Traveler, Season Two
by Macex
Summary: Jay, Tyler and Will attempt to stay out of harm's way while seeking information on the mysterious Fourth Branch.
1. Chapter 1

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

This follows the aired episodes of Traveler.

EPISODE 1: THE AFTERMATH

(With many thanks to ETRNL, who kindly beta-ed this chapter.)

_The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision - whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath. It is then, with all his resources spent and his guard down, that an individual must watch out for dulled reactions and faulty judgment.  
_Richard M. Nixon

Each step was etched with anguish as Special Agent Jan Marlow wended her way through the office with her partner's FBI badge clutched in her hand. It wasn't the first time the New York Office had lost one of its own in the line of duty, and it no doubt wouldn't be the last. But that didn't ease her misery.

Jan could feel the well of empathy from her fellow agents as she placed Borjes' badge on his desk. It was a kindness that they kept their thoughts to themselves. Nothing anyone said would have lessened her grief or changed what had happened. Borjes had been _her_ partner. Now he was dead.

"Agent Marlow." The young man from the evidence department approached her, his hand extended, offering a small slip of paper. "You wanted the last incoming number off the dead suspect's cell phone."

"Yeah, thanks," she said, grateful for the diversion.

Her trip to Westchester seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet, less than half a day had passed since she'd tracked down Joseph Langdon and paid a visit to his stately house in the suburbs. While she was questioning him about the Drexler bombing, he'd received a phone call. Immediately following that call he'd pulled a gun and opened fire on her.

She was certain that the phone call he'd received had triggered the attack. Now she was going to find out who had initiated the call. She punched in the number and waited with anticipation to hear the voice of Langdon's associate. The phone was picked up after the second ring.

"Hello." On hearing the familiar voice Marlow almost dropped her phone. Tightening her grip, she lowered it, staring at the small rectangle with stunned disbelief. "Hello, who is this?" the man on the other end asked.

Her eyes shifted across the room, to the windowed office that was almost directly across from hers. She could read Chambers' lips as his voice flowed again from her phone. "Hello," he repeated.

Reeling with shock, Marlow cut the connection and spun about, slumping against the wall of her cubicle. It felt as if the air had been sucked from her office, leaving her weak and breathless.

Nothing in her career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation had prepared her for this brutal change of perception. The organization she'd served long, and she'd hoped honorably, was compromised. Her immediate superior, Fred Chambers, had made the call directing Joseph Langdon to kill her. _Chambers!_

Tyler Fog's words echoed through her head: _The FBI is involved_.

She hadn't believed him. After all, Fog was one of the chief suspects in the Drexler bombing. But now... now anything was possible.

She remained with her back to the inner office window, sure that if Chambers should glance over and see her face he'd realize the cause of her distress.

Taking slow, deep breaths she forced her body to relax. When her heart stopped beating as if it were powering her through a marathon, she considered what to do next. Her cell number wasn't blocked. It would show up on Chambers' phone. At any time he might check his incoming call list and see that she'd called and hung up.

While the official eight-hour day had ended, several agents were still at their desks, as had been the case since their unit was given responsibility for hunting down those responsible for blowing up the Drexler Museum.

Should she tell one of her co-workers what she knew? Or should she confront Chambers herself? She didn't have much time to decide.

She wished she could consult her partner. He was always the voice of cool, calm reason. But she'd never have Guillermo Borjes at her side again. He'd been chasing Otis Whaley–a suspected accomplice in the Drexler bombing, and a man who had somehow managed to escape from an FBI holding cell-when he'd been gunned down.

Chambers had been with Borjes when Whaley had shot Carlton Fog. Chambers had been in on the chase to recapture Whaley. Chambers had found Borjes' body.

_Chamber_s, _again!_

Abruptly, she made her decision. She picked up her office phone and punched in the four numbers that connected her to internal security. "I need a security team in Fred Chambers' office. Now."

Not wanting to wait the five to ten minutes it would take Security to process the request and get to the floor, she opened her door and crossed the short distance to Chambers' office. He saw her approach and nodded that she should enter.

"How are you feeling, Marlow?"

_The bastard actually sounded like he cared. _

She whipped her gun out of its holster and pointed it at him. "Hands in the air."

After a brief hesitation he lifted them slowly and carefully. "Whatever the problem is, put down the gun and we'll talk about it."

"I know you made the call."

"You're upset. You lost your partner today. But, please, put the gun down. Borjes wouldn't want this."

"This isn't about Borjes. You called Joseph Langdon and told him to kill me."

"I what?" Chambers said, as two security guards with guns drawn burst into the small room.

Their focus was on Marlow. "Drop your weapon," the taller guard ordered.

Marlow obeyed, stepping away from it and turning so that she could watch both Chambers and the security team "You don't know what's going on," she told them. "I suggest you lock up both of us until an investigation can be launched."

"Just a minute, " Chambers held out his hands, "Agent Marlow's had a stressful day. She's jumped to an erroneous conclusion. If everyone will be patient, this can be worked out without putting another blemish on her record."

"You can't explain your way out of this. The Evidence Department has Langdon's phone; it has the record of your call." But even to her own ears, she sounded close to hysterical while Chambers appeared to be calm and reasonable. She wasn't surprised when the two guards lowered their weapons.

Chambers was the picture of innocence as he spoke. "Yes, I called Langdon. But did it ever occur to you that I was following the same leads you were? Which led me to Langdon. I called to request that he come in for an interview. My notes are here on my desk if you'd like to look at them." He thumbed through a stack of paperwork, pulled out a tablet and pushed it to where she could see it.

The notes supported his claim. _Was he telling the truth? Or had he been clever enough to provide himself with an alibi before contacting Langdon? _

Marlow's head was reeling. How had she ended up on the defensive? "He shot at me. After your call."

"Maybe having two FBI agents on his case spooked him. We'll never know. Since you killed him, we'll never get any information out of him." He waved to the guards. "You can go now."

"We're required to make a report."

"If you must," Chambers said, "but I want it noted that Agent Marlow's partner was killed in the line of duty today. It's understandable that she's not thinking clearly."

xxx

"Go, go."

An urgent voice tickled at Jay's consciousness, but the shock of the explosion had numbed his mind to where it didn't process the words.

A secondary eruption burst from the limo. The resulting flames climbed as high as the top of the building that housed The New York Citizen. They hung there for brief seconds before disintegrating into fading sparkles that fell back to earth. The hope of moments earlier faded with them.

"Come on." The second command, accompanied by a tugging at his jacket, caught Jay's attention. The wail of emergency vehicles, a sound that had come to signify personal danger, provided additional motivation. He responded instinctively. He began to move.

As quickly as that, the three of them were back on the run.

Of the dozen or so people on the street, half were rushing toward the burning limo while the other half scurried away. "Not too fast," Will cautioned. "We don't want to call attention to ourselves."

"Like at the Drexler?" Tyler said in a voice tinged with bitter recrimination.

There was no reaction from Will. Jay wasn't surprised. Whatever Will felt–guilt, remorse, indifference, or none of the above–he'd kept it to himself during the seventeen odd hours since they'd reunited. There had been no repeat of the apology he had made moments before the Drexler exploded.

"Left. Here." Will turned into a quiet side street and began to jog. He remained in the lead, as they snaked a path away from the newspaper building, keeping to less-trafficked streets whenever possible. They'd gone at least a mile, to where the swirl of sirens was less shrill, when Will darted into a deserted alley and slowed to a walk. Security lights dotted the way, presenting an alternating pattern of bright circles and blurred shadows.

Halfway down the block, Will directed Jay and Tyler to a recess between two buildings.

"Catch your breath," he said, joining them in the dark canyon.

"Who did that? Who killed Freed?" Tyler asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Who? No one knew what we were doing or where we were going to be... except... us." With the last two words fury replaced puzzlement in his voice. He grabbed Will's shoulders and slammed him into the side of the nearer building. "Fk you, Will. You did it. You wanted him dead. You killed him."

Will didn't struggle or fight back. "You were with me the entire time."

"With you, but we weren't watching everything you did," Jay said. He took hold of Will's right wrist and pinned it high against the brick wall, away from the gun tucked in his jeans.

"If I wanted him dead," Will said, slow and deliberate, "I would have killed him in less spectacular fashion. Or do you think I wanted to attract the attention of the entire borough's police force?"

Tyler turned to Jay. "He has a point." With unspoken accord they released their holds.

"If you have that out of your systems, I need you to shut up and stay out of my way." Will's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone's been following us."

Jay hated that Will was once again bossing them around and not allowing them any input. Hated more that Will had kept the information that someone was following them to himself. But he had to trust Will's instincts and remain quiet, for now.

Will pulled his gun and positioned himself at the corner of the building. He gestured for Tyler and Jay to flatten themselves against the nearer wall.

One to two minutes later, something-and Jay couldn't begin to guess what that something might have been-prompted Will to explode into the alley, where he collided with another figure just as it edged into view. There was a brief, fierce scuffle, followed by a clatter as a weapon dropped to the street. Then Will spun free and brought his gun to bear on the other man.

"Hands on your head. Down on your knees," Will barked. "Jay, Tyler, stay back."

Despite the directive, Jay took two steps forward. "You."

xxx

As soon as security left his office, the calm that Chambers had maintained was replaced with barely restrained rage. "Marlow, you've gone too far. You've compromised my investigation for the last time. I don't need a rogue agent on my team. I want you to take personal leave, a week, two weeks. After that I'm going to have you reassigned."

"But..." She bit her lip in protest.

"If you don't like it, request a hearing. But if you go that route, I promise you won't like the results."

Damn him. He'd twisted the situation and made her look emotionally unbalanced. But she wouldn't cower before him. "I'll keep that in mind," she said, maintaining a posture of threat.

He gave her a long, cold stare. "Before you leave, I want the report of your encounter with our three fugitives on my desk. Then you're off the case. Understand?"

"Yes... sir."

"The press are demanding answers, why we haven't caught them when we've had so many opportunities, and..." Chambers' cell phone interrupted whatever he'd been about to say. His eyes widened as he listened to the voice on the other end. "What! Where?" He flipped the phone closed. "There's been another explosion. I have to go."

Marlow watched him run out.

_The FBI is involved. _Every instinct told her that was truth and that Chambers was very much in the thick of it.

xxx

Tyler moved forward until he was standing next to Jay. He rubbed his right hand over the watch on his left wrist, feeling guilty and contrite. "Jay, I kept it. I thought we might need his help."

"That guy put a tracking device in Tyler's watch," Jay said, pointing at the man kneeling on the ground. "Back when all of this began, he helped us get out of the hotel ahead of the police. At the time I still thought he was a hotel employee, a simple porter. But later that same day he blew up an FBI van and killed two agents to free us."

"The agents were shooting at us," Tyler added. He didn't want to look like a complete idiot for having kept the watch. "We were handcuffed, no threat to them, and they opened fire. If he hadn't been there, we'd be dead"

"Flip open your watch and show me the inside." Will took a quick glance at the watch, then returned his full attention to his prisoner. "That's a sophisticated device. I assume it's a match to the one in Deer Harbor."

"We're on the same side," the porter said, speaking for the first time.

"Which side would that be?" Will asked. "Hometown? The Fourth Branch? The United States of America?"

"The side of those who want to find the people who planned the Drexler."

"He knew Jay and I weren't involved," Tyler said. "He was following us to find you."

"He was following us before that," Will pointed out. "That's why he was at the hotel."

"We knew something was going down," the porter said. "We didn't know exactly what. But we suspected you were involved."

"Go on."

"I was at the hotel to keep an eye on you. I searched your room while you were out partying, but I didn't find anything suspicious. I couldn't locate your car, so the plan was to plant trackers in your luggage the next morning, but someone entered your room as soon as you left. They took all of your things, Traveler. That's when I knew I was too late to stop whatever was going to happen."

"You still haven't told me who you work for."

"Come on, you know the routine. Everything is on a need-to-know basis. You don't need to know anything except that I can help you. We can help each other."

"That's not good enough. Tyler, turn your watch upside down."

Tyler flipped the still-open watch. A thin, metal disk dropped to the pavement.

Will waved to Jay and Tyler. "Get moving. I'll be right behind you."

"What about him?" Tyler walked toward the porter. "Shouldn't we make sure he doesn't have another gun, or tie him up, or something?"

"Stay back." Will's shout stopped Tyler in his tracks. "If you get within reach, he'll have you as a hostage in half a second." Will sidestepped to where he could kick the gun on the pavement toward Tyler. "Take that. And go. Both of you. Now."

"You're making a mistake," the porter called after them. "You need me. When you come to realize that, give me a call." He rattled off a telephone number that echoed down the length of the alley.

xxx

Chambers walked to where he had privacy before quick dialing a number in his cell phone. "I may have found Freed."

"May have?" questioned the voice on the other end.

"You said he went missing along with a black limousine. I'm looking at the charred remains of a black limousine that blew up outside the offices of The Citizen. The fire inspector thinks there's a body inside. Just before the limo exploded there was an anonymous call to the news desk. The caller said the person responsible for the Drexler was in the back of the limo."

"Who made the call? Traveler?"

"We don't know, but the paper routinely recorded it. We'll do a voice match."

"Call me when you have more information."

"I'll do that."

Chambers had one more call to make. He punched a preset code and waited while the phone dialed the number. It rang five times before transferring to voice mail. "Jessica, it's Dad. I'm sorry. I won't be able to meet you for dinner. Call me and we'll reschedule."

xxx

"I'll get out here," Will said as Tyler inched the sedan toward the northern end of Times Square. They'd stolen it shortly after their encounter with the porter.

Will pulled the knife from the sheath on his leg and the gun from his jeans and put them on the floor of the backseat. "Come back for me in forty minutes."

Tyler swung to the curb and stopped the car. "That should be one circle of the block the way traffic isn't moving."

As soon as he was clear of the car, Will slipped off his jacket, rolled it about itself, and wrapped the bundled result around his waist, effectively hiding the bloodstains and bullet holes on both his jacket and his shirt. Even in a city where the bizarre was so normal that it typically went unnoticed, his bloody clothing might have attracted attention.

Will walked the short distance to where the side street he was on intersected Broadway and turned right. He slid into the moving stream of pedestrians, maintaining the same moderate pace as everyone else. The sidewalks were as packed with people as the streets were with cars. Late as it was, it would be hours before the crowds in Times Square thinned. It made for good cover. And the still-open businesses would allow him to purchase some of what they needed.

His first stop was a brightly lit store with an almost life-sized cardboard cutout of Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter in its window. While souvenirs were its primary offering, it had a few bins and shelves dedicated to more practical items that tourists might require. He filled a shopping basket with bulk packages of socks and underwear, first aid supplies, and snack foods. At the checkout counter he added a pay-as-you-go phone to the mix.

Further down the block he spotted an electronics store and eased out of the traffic flow a second time. The windows were filled with items priced so ridiculously low that even the most naive tourist should have been made wary. But they weren't, or this place, and many others like it, wouldn't be in business.

He entered through the store's gated door and went directly to the computer section. The high end laptops were displayed in a glass-enclosed counter. He tapped on the case until he caught the attention of a clerk. "Let me see that one."

"An excellent choice." The clerk used a key to open the display case and brought out the laptop for inspection. "This has..."

"I can look for myself." Will powered it up, briefly ran through the menu, and popped the broadband access card in and out of its slot. "I'll take it."

"Very good. We have them boxed and ready to go. Let me put this away, then I'll get you one from the back."

With one hand Will kept a tight hold on the computer, while he used the other hand to extract the wallet from his back pocket. "This one is fine. The tag says $599." He unfolded the wallet and fingered the wad of currency tucked in its pocket. "I'll want a spare battery and a DC to AC power inverter to go with it."

"But... it's a display model. It's been handled. I'm not sure the warranty..." The clerk's words cut off as he caught sight of the FBI badge displayed in the open wallet. "But if that's the one you prefer..."

Will paid him in hundred dollar bills. At least they weren't short of cash. He'd give Jay and Tyler credit for that. They'd not only recovered his stashes from New Haven and Boston, they had close to fifty thousand dollars provided by Carlton Fog. It beat using bump and swipe to build a bankroll.

After three quick stops for additional phones Will returned to the meeting place. There was no sign of the silver four door. That didn't surprise him; the heavy traffic made navigating within a precise time frame next to impossible.

Will leaned against a building, out of the way of pedestrian traffic. He set his purchases on the ground and tucked them behind his legs for security.

Martin had told him that Hometown had shut down two years ago, and Jack Freed had taken over to pursue his own agenda. That made it around the time he'd started the grad school assignment. Which went a long way toward explaining things that had puzzled him.

_20 months before the Drexler..._

_While the bulk of the heavy snow from a week earlier had melted there were still patches scattered about the lonely beach. But none here on the wooden pier, where Will stood and stared out at the blustery Atlantic. Wind carrying the scent of salt whipped through his hair. Gulls screeched in the sky above. It was a gray, windy, nasty day, the third in a series where the sun failed to make an appearance. _

_A particularly large wave crashed into the bottom of the pier. It almost masked the faint vibrations of approaching footsteps. A figure took up a position next to Will, gloved hands moving forward to rest on the rail. _

"_Do you have something for me?" Joseph Langdon asked._

_Will passed him the padded envelope that contained his written report and a DVD. _

"_Everyone is pleased with your work."_

_Will couldn't imagine why. "I've lived with them for four months. They aren't terrorists. They don't belong to any organizations that deliberately or inadvertently support or fund terrorism." He turned to face Joseph. "Fog and Burchell are just what they seem to be: two graduate students with only one shared obsession. While supporting the Cubs might indicate a degree of fanaticism, I don't think it poses a threat to our country."_

_Joseph smiled warmly. "Just keep doing your job." He turned and walked away, calling back over his shoulder, "See you next month." _

A honk jerked Will back to the present. Tyler and Jay had returned.

It was surprisingly difficult to push off the wall, pick up his packages and walk to car. As he slid into the backseat, he gave his head a shake to clear his brain. This wasn't the time for distractions, or weakness.

xxx

Hearing the click of the lock, Kim Doherty jumped to her feet. She didn't know how long she had been in this small windowless room with a cot, table and single chair, but it felt like an eternity.

"Here's your dinner." A heavyset man in a dark sweatshirt placed a fast food bag and a bottle of water on the table.

"I want to call a lawyer," she said, using belligerence to mask her fright. "It's my right."

"Tell it to the judge." The man chuckled and went out. The loud click indicated that he hadn't forgotten to lock the door.

Not that Kim knew what she would have done if he had left it open. She was in an anonymous building with bare walls and floors. She knew there was a bathroom two doors down to the right, because they'd let her use it once since her imprisonment. And she knew the door to the street was somewhere to the left. But they'd brought her here through a maze of corridors that twisted and turned, and she wasn't sure she could find her way out on her own.

The cold fear that had been building inside her heightened to where a shiver set her body to quaking. She had to hug herself to quell it. She was frightened, more frightened than she'd ever been in her life. When she'd agreed to help Jay, she hadn't considered the consequences.

Following her arrest, she'd been taken to FBI Headquarters where Chambers had questioned her about Jay's whereabouts. Which told Kim that Jay had escaped. But she truthfully didn't know where he might be. Chambers hadn't seemed to believe her, which was when Kim had been moved to this isolated and unmarked location. There was nothing to suggest it was a government facility. It was as if she'd been dropped into a black void, where she was at the mercy of anonymous thugs who didn't answer to any known laws or codes of decency.

Where was Agent Chambers? Where was Jay? Where was her Dad? Didn't anyone miss her or wonder where she was?

xxx

Stopped in bumper-to-bumper traffic, Tyler glanced over his shoulder as Will pulled a computer from one of the bags he'd brought back to the car. "Tell me you didn't buy that at one of the ripoff joints on Broadway."

Will pressed a button to turn on the machine. "I bought the display model."

"The display model." Tyler chuckled. "That should be all right."

"Does someone want to fill me in?" Jay asked.

"Those stores pretend to sell state-of-the-art computers at bargain prices," Tyler explained. "Once they have the customer hooked, they pull a switch and give him or her an old, refurbished model. The clientele tend to be from out of town or even out of the country. By the time they realize they've been duped, they might be too far away to fight it. Even if they aren't, the sales receipt matches the computer they took home. All of the locals know to avoid those places." Tyler pressed the accelerator as traffic began to move. "I can't imagine they were too happy to be on the losing end of their scam."

"They didn't complain," Will said. Tyler could hear his fingers clicking over the keyboard. "We've got broadband access and I've set up an account. User name is HDBright. Password is ernie, all lower case, 36. I'm booking a suite at a hotel I know on the Upper East Side. There are ways in and out where you don't have to pass through the lobby."

"A suite on the Upper East Side..." Tyler switched on his turn signal to get them headed in the right direction. "At least we won't be slumming it."

xxx

Back at FBI HQ Fred Chambers freshened up in the rest room before returning to his office. It had taken over an hour for the fire department to cool the limo and pry apart the twisted metal to confirm that there was a charred body in the back. DNA analysis would take a couple of days, but Chambers already knew it was Jack Freed. The license plate matched the limo sent to pick him up. He'd failed to answer his phone or respond to his pager since he'd left for the meeting with Traveler.

"Damn it." Chambers pounded the desk with his fist. How could everything have gone so wrong? Burchell and Fog were amateurs. And while Traveler was a professional, he was only one man. Yet it was almost a week since the Drexler, and the three were still running free

How had they managed that when the full resources of the FBI and Homeland Security had been committed to catching them?

Now it was up to Hometown operative Otis Whaley. If Whaley didn't find Traveler and his companions in the next twelve hours or so, they'd have to dangle Doherty as bait. And Hometown had never hesitated to turn its bait into chum. While it was her own fault, Chambers couldn't help but feel a moment of regret. Kim reminded him of his daughter. Both girls were energetic, bright, and attractive. It was a pity that Doherty had fallen in love with the wrong man.

xxx

As his eyes scanned the spacious suite Jay had a momentary sense of deja vu. It wasn't as elegant as the luxury suite they'd stayed in the first night of their supposed road trip, but it was similar in size and design.

"Well, Will, are we going to stay put for a minute or two?" Tyler asked as he dumped the pack and shopping bag he'd been carrying on the floor. "We've been driving around half the night, then we waited in that service area for next to forever before you called to give us the room number. I was beginning to think you'd been arrested at check in."

While Tyler's time estimates were an exaggeration, Jay had to agree that their path to the hotel had been less than direct. After booking the room Will had brought them on what felt like a driving tour of Manhattan. First they'd cruised the neighborhood near the hotel until Will decided on a second car, a late-model SUV, for them to steal. He drove that, with Jay and Tyler following in the sedan, to Chinatown. They'd abandoned the first car there, loaded everything into the SUV, drove it back to the Upper East Side and parked it about a block from its original location, where Will had popped the CD system, which he'd dumped in a trash can they'd passed during the five-block walk to the hotel.

Jay understood what Will was trying to do. An abandoned, stolen car might connect to fugitives on the run and give the authorities a focus area to search, while police would assume that an SUV taken for a joy ride and vandalized was the work of teenage miscreants.

"You can sleep, shower, order room service, if you want," Will belatedly answered Tyler's question. His primary attention was on the open computer on the desk. He'd returned to it immediately after letting Jay and Tyler in the room. The scrunched list of Holloway Insurance transactions was next to the computer. Will's fingers danced over the keyboard as he continued, "There's food in one of the bags. Clothes, though not much–socks, underwear-in another. We should do laundry before morning. There's a washer and dryer in a room near the elevator."

Jay looked at the clock on the end table. "Morning isn't that far away. I'll shower, then do the wash."

"Twenty-four hour room service," Tyler read from the menu. "I'll order dinner, breakfast, or whatever missed or upcoming meal you want to call it."

xxx

Marlow fingered the printed copy of her report as she crossed to Chambers' office. She hadn't expected to have to see him again, but he'd returned before she'd finished.

Given what she'd overheard, and by asking a few direct questions, she'd learned quite a bit about the explosion that had sent her boss rushing from the office. While evidence was still inconclusive, it was more than likely that Burchell, Fog and Traveler were involved. Also of note was the probable victim: Jack Freed, currently with Homeland Security, formerly with the FBI.

_The FBI is involved._

She tapped on the door before letting herself into Chambers' office. "Here's the report you wanted."

He scanned it with critical eyes. "Damn it, Marlow, if you had told us about Doherty we could have had the area blanketed. We would have caught them."

"I didn't want to spook her."

"It was poor judgment and improper procedure." He flipped to the last page. "You don't know which one was shot?"

She shrugged. "I don't know that I hit anyone. It was dark; they were running away." As much as it was the truth, it wasn't a truthful answer to his question. If it was anyone, it could only have been Traveler. But she wasn't going to tell Chambers anything she didn't have to tell him.

Chambers threw the report on his desk. "Go. Leave. Some of us have work to do."

Marlow left his office without looking back. She felt adrift in a whirlpool of deceit and confusion. Chambers was dirty; she was sure of it. But she didn't have any proof. And she had no way of contacting the people who might have that proof: Fog, Burchell and Traveler.

As she passed Borjes' desk an ache welled in her chest. He'd been more than a partner. He'd been a friend and a confidante. Five years her junior, she taken him under her wing two years earlier when he'd been fresh from the FBI Academy in Quantico. With no significant others to fill their spare time, they had found themselves spending more and more time together, going to movies and sporting events and meeting each others' families. He couldn't have been closer if he'd been a blood-related younger brother.

She could have told Borjes about Chambers and he would have believed her. As much as Borjes was a product of his chain-of-command military background, he was also a damned fine agent who could see beyond the obvious. He always kept an open mind, and that had been especially true in regard to the Drexler bombing, where the case against Burchell and Fog had sometimes not made any sense.

Sighing, she reached for his folder on the Drexler and flipped it open. She wanted to feel close to Borjes, if only through his neat, precise handwriting. There were his notes, carefully scribed on lined paper, the complete opposite of her scribbled, seemingly disorganized scrawls.

Her eyes were drawn to a single line of writing near the center of the top sheet. It was separated from the paragraphs above and below by multiple blank lines. And it was circled in red.

_Will Traveler. Iraq. Nightingale. _

She read it again and again. _Nightingale._ Where had that come from? When had Borjes written this and what did it mean? She read the paragraphs on either side of the line, then skimmed everything on the following pages. The reference was never mentioned again.

Marlow wasn't religious, but she almost felt as if another power had led her to Borjes' desk and the note.

_The FBI is involved._

_Will Traveler. Iraq. Nightingale._

It wasn't much, but it provided new leads to pursue. Chambers might have taken her off the case, but he couldn't take the case away from her.

xxx

The vibration of the silent alarm on Jay's watch woke him from an exhausted sleep. Five o'clock. Their clothes should be dry. He needed to retrieve them before the other occupants of the floor began to stir. Not wanting to wake Tyler in the other bed, he picked his way through the darkened room as quietly as possible.

The lights in the outer room were on and the sofa bed unopened. Will was working at the computer. Jay suspected he had never left it.

The closet of the suite had yielded two terrycloth robes. Will was wearing one; Jay slipped into the other. He stuck his bare feet in his shoes and headed for the door, picking up the room key and a plastic dry cleaning bag on his way out.

The trip to the laundry room was uneventful. Except for the bloodstains on Will's shirt and jacket, Tide had worked its magic well. He tossed the fresh-smelling clothes into the bag and started back. The ping of the elevator sent him ducking into the alcove that housed the ice and snack machines. He huddled in the corner while a series of thuds moved along the hallway in the direction of their room.

FBI? Police? The Porter?

Bracing himself, he edged to the opening and took a quick peek down the hallway. Giddy relief flowed through him when he realized it was only a hotel employee delivering complimentary morning newspapers. But it was still someone who might identify him, so he stayed where he was until the man moved to another floor.

Back in their room, Jay set the laundry aside and unfolded the newspaper. "We're the top story. Again." He read from the article, "At approximately nine o'clock last evening explosives destroyed a limousine parked outside the offices of The New York Citizen. While the FBI wouldn't confirm that Drexler suspects Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog were involved, Special Agent Fred Chambers did acknowledge that they were in the city."

He tossed the paper onto the coffee table. "Do you mind if I turn on the TV?"

Will had retrieved his clothes from the bag and was stepping into his jeans. "Go ahead."

Jay eased himself onto the cushioned sofa, then wiggled until he found the most comfortable position. Using the remote, he powered the TV and hit mute. He didn't need sound to scan channels.

"That was quite a fall you took from the flatbed."

Jay turned to his left so that he was facing Will. "Are you saying you could have managed better?"

"I'm saying that you've been creaking about like someone who is stiff and sore. There's a bottle of pain meds in the bag in the bathroom."

"There's some stiffness," Jay admitted, surprised that Will had noticed. He didn't think he'd been favoring his back that much.

After breaking the seal on the bottle Jay tipped two pills into his hand. He washed them down with a glass of water. As he went to throw away the plastic seal, he looked from it to the wad of bloody gauze in the waste can.

Will had returned to the computer. Jay rattled the bottle to catch his attention. "Don't you want some?"

"Later."

"Bullet wounds don't hurt?"

"As long as I stay busy I don't think about it."

"What's so urgent?"

"Every..." Will started to say, then shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing's urgent. It needs to be done, but..."

"...not immediately," Jay finished. "Just like at Yale. You were the only grad student I knew who never crammed for an exam, because you always studied well in advance."

He picked up a still full glass of orange juice from the room service tray and brought it and the pills to the desk. "Take some. Get some sleep. You can use the bed in the other room."

Will stood, walked to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked out. There was an unmistakable weariness to his posture.

"A couple of hours that might not seem significant at the time can sometimes mean the difference between life and death."

Jay didn't have to be a mind reader to know that Will was talking about Maya, the pretty blonde bookstore owner who had been involved with Will professionally and romantically. Though he'd never said it in so many words, Will had intimated that his Hometown associates had killed Maya not long after Jay and Tyler had left her house in Deer Harbor, Maine.

"You couldn't have done anything for her if you had gotten to Deer Harbor earlier," Jay said. "They were waiting for you. They had two cars at Maya's house, three vans when they picked you up. And that's just what we saw. They weren't going to let you anywhere near her."

"I would have tried."

"You were trying. That's why you went back."

"Tyler was right. Freed got off too easily when that limo blew."

"Will, you look like hell; get some sleep."

Will stepped back, letting the curtain fall into place behind him. "All right. We'll do it your way."

Returning to the desk, he shook out two pills, hesitated, then added two more. "Weren't you going to watch TV?"

"Yes." But Jay continued to stare at Will. Despite everything that had happened, despite the betrayal, he couldn't look at Will and not feel the sense of camaraderie that he had thought defined their relationship for two years.

Will couldn't help but notice that Jay was watching him. "Do I have spinach between my teeth?" he asked, not in the humorous manner of the old Will, but with a defensive edginess to his voice that suggested Jay's attention made him uncomfortable.

"It's the bloodstain on your shirt," Jay said simply and wearily. "It's explosions and gunfire. It's hiding out in a hotel room. It's crazy. Not that long ago we were grad students. We shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be real. Real is studying for exams, morning runs, takeout pizza. At least for Tyler and me. Was it ever...?"

Will didn't let him finish. "What station do you prefer?" He quick stepped to the end table and snatched up the remote. "I won't be able to sleep until my brain slows down. TV is good for that."

Jay thought about the many questions he wanted to ask, but let them drop. For now. They were both too tired to dissect what Will had done and why. "CNN," he answered.

"Not the soporific I'd choose,"Will said "But it will do."

xxx

Marlow tossed her keys on the side table by the door. FBI agents weren't overpaid, and a walk-up studio apartment on the upper West Side was all that she could afford. It beat commuting from Yonkers or Newark, or even further out, but it made for cramped quarters.

Five steps took her to the kitchen alcove where she poured herself a glass of milk. Three more steps and she was at the small dining table that doubled as a desk. A notebook and pen sat on its surface.

She opened it to a blank page and scribbled a note. _Will Traveler. Iraq. Nightingale. _The words had been grouped together as if they were dots waiting for connecting lines to form a complete picture, but she couldn't begin to imagine what the completed picture might be. Borjes had served in Iraq during his time in the marines. But how did that connect to Traveler? And was Nightingale a code? Maybe for an operation? Or a terrorist group? Was it something that Borjes had linked to the Drexler?

Borjes. Dead. It was still a disbelieving nightmare.

She resolutely pushed her distress aside and continued with her notes. _Chambers made call to Joseph Langdon. Why? To interview Joseph? No! To order Joseph to kill her. Who helped Whaley escape? How did Whaley's files and fingerprints go missing? Inside help. Chambers?_

_Who killed Borjes? _She underlined the name two times as tears welled in her eyes.

xxx

"Tyler, Tyler."

Someone was shaking him and calling his name. Tyler reached for the extra pillow and jammed it over his head. "G'way."

"Tyler, it's important," Jay said. "It's about your dad."

Tyler rolled onto his back, squinting as light hit his eyes. "The only thing I want to hear about him is that he's dead."

Jay looked pained. "You might get your wish sooner than you think."

"What?" Much to his own surprise, Tyler felt sorrow and panic flow through him. "How? What happened?"

"He's been shot. Yesterday afternoon, in front of his club."

Tyler rushed into the sitting room and stared at the TV screen.

A reporter was standing at the entrance to a hospital emergency room. "Let me repeat. Carleton Fog's younger son, Lieutenant Gabriel Fog, arrived at the hospital a few minutes ago. He reportedly flew in from Iraq after the Red Cross arranged for emergency leave. He declined to answer any questions about his father or his fugitive brother, Tyler Fog, one of the chief suspects in the Drexler bombing. Now back to the newsroom."

"The stock market..."

The TV went mute as Tyler sank into a chair.

"They said he was critical but stable." Jay placed his hand on Tyler's shoulder.

"Who did it?"

"No information about suspects has been released," Will answered. "But someone killed Freed. And someone shot your Dad. They might be trying to tidy up loose ends. Which means your father is still in danger."

"Why should I care?" Tyler swiped at moisture that was pooling in his eyes. "He wanted me dead."

"He's still your father," Will said.

"And he knows the truth," Jay added. "We might need his testimony to clear us." He gave Tyler's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tyler, Will wants you to contact Gabriel and have him hire someone to guard your father."

"Tell your brother he can't trust the police or anyone with ties to the Fog organization, including its private security team."

"Gabe... I should be there. He shouldn't have to go through this alone."

"No, no." Jay held Tyler down when he tried to stand. "The authorities will be watching him."

Will handed Tyler a phone and a page ripped out of the telephone book. He'd circled one of the advertisements. "That firm has a good reputation, and I've never known it to do business with Hometown. Tell your brother this can't wait."

Tyler clutched the phone. "I'll try his cell. If that doesn't get through, I guess I'll have to call the hospital." As he tapped out the numbers, Tyler considered how topsy turvy the world had become, because he almost wished Gabriel was back in Iraq. He might be safer there.

xxx

Even when Fred Chambers wasn't working on an urgent case he didn't spend much time in his West Village home. The three-story plus basement townhouse was lonely with his daughter back at school and living in a dormitory again.

While the demands of the Drexler case could have kept him in the office twenty-four seven, there were basic needs that required him to return home on occasion. Right now, he needed fresh clothes. He needed sleep.

When he arrived home dawn hadn't yet streaked the sky, which made the house even less welcoming than usual. The high-ceilinged rooms were dark and shadowy when natural light wasn't pouring in the long, narrow windows. He kept telling himself he should buy more lamps, then promptly forgot the resolution when he walked out the door.

Tossing his briefcase onto an upholstered chair just inside the entrance to the living room, he walked to the kitchen at the back of the house. It had been redone just before Chambers bought the place and was filled with gleaming appliances and fashionable granite countertops. Not surprisingly, the oversized stainless steel refrigerator was almost empty, but he managed to salvage a hunk of cheese that only had a thin coat of mold. He set it on a plate with a slightly shriveled apple and a two-day old muffin. After brewing a cup of tea, he sat at the breakfast counter, where he could consume his modest meal while listening to the messages on his answering machine.

The first four were over twenty-four hours old. All of the callers had already reached him through his cell phone.

The fifth was more recent.

"_Fred, this is Rosalind_." The familiar, cultured voice of Jack Freed's mother grew crude and strident as she continued. "_I want those sons of bitches to pay, do you understand? I want the flesh stripped from their bodies while they watch. It's become personal_." She paused to take a breath and sounded calmer as she completed her message. "_Call me, but not until after ten. I'm taking a sleeping pill_."

The next call was much briefer.

"_Chambers. The younger Fog whelp is in town. I'm putting a tail on him_."

Chambers nodded his approval before punching the advance button to listen to the final message.

"_Dad, it's Jess. I know it's early, but you aren't home anyway, so I'm not waking you or anything. I couldn't wait to call because I'm meeting my film group at six. We're working on the most amazing project. I can't wait to tell you about it. I'm pretty busy this week, but what about breakfast on Sunday? Talk to you later_."

Chambers replayed the message just to hear his daughter's voice. Though they lived less than five miles apart, it seemed as if the only way they connected was through each other's voice mail. Maybe Sunday would work out. But first he had to get the Drexler mess cleaned up, and that was proving to be more difficult than any of them could ever have imagined.

xxx

The ache in his side reminded Will to change the dressing on his wounds. He lined up first aid supplies on the coffee table, sat on the sofa and pulled up his t-shirt. He placed warm, wet washcloths over the bandages that covered the entrance and extra wounds on his left side, so that the moisture could loosen the adhesive and make it easier to pry the tape free.

Tyler had eventually calmed down to where Jay could coax him into the bedroom. Neither of them had reappeared, and Will hoped they were asleep. It made it easier for him to think and to act when he didn't have them staring at him as if he were a monster alien from outer space.

He could understand their estrangement. They had every right to hate him and more. And they had every right to be confused. They were used to Will Traveler their friend. And he couldn't be that now, even if his feelings for them were the same.

Ripping off the bandages was slightly painful. Poking at the exit wound was worse. The area was puffy, oozing and tender to the touch. Not good. He should have broken into a pharmacy and picked up some antibiotics. He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine o'clock, which meant drugstores would be open and busy. A daylight robbery wasn't an option, so he'd have to wait on antibiotics until tonight. In the meantime, he'd make due with what he had.

Gritting his teeth, he poured iodine onto the wound. It felt like a stream of molten lava, but he didn't cry out. It was only pain, and pain could be endured.

_Eleven years earlier..._

_Stephen Mailer scuffed his worn tennis shoes over the dusty path that served as a road for the rear portion of the trailer park where he lived with his mother. Streets in the front section were paved, but not back here where fees were cheapest and the units were parked practically on top of each other._

_One of his neighbors, Rosa Caballero, spotted him from where she was hanging clothes on a rack to side of her trailer. As he approached what passed for her yard, she began to curse him in Spanish for walking too close to a row of spindly flowers she'd planted._

_Stephen cursed back in the same language. Rosa was insane, and not just because she was trying to grow flowers in the desert. The woman had held a grudge against him ever since her so-called boyfriend's truck had been scratched up. She was sure that Stephen was responsible, because she'd seen the two of them arguing the day before._

_He hadn't done the damage, but he'd never told her that. Let her believe what she wanted. If she insisted on turning a blind eye to the other women in the park who slept with her boyfriend, it mattered not to Stephen._

_The next trailer belonged to the Hopi Indian with the name most residents of the park couldn't pronounce, so they called him Cochise. Now __**he**__ was really insane, but only when he was drunk._

_Sitting in a lawn chair under his awning, the Indian's hands flew this way and that as wood shavings piled up on his lap. If he was working on one of his whittling projects, he probably hadn't yet started on his daily allotment of cheap whiskey. Cautiously, just in case his assessment of the Indian's sobriety was incorrect, Stephen edged closer to see the figure that was forming in the wood. _

"_Greetings, Chavatangakwunua," Stephen said, carefully enunciating each syllable, and inserting the same inflections Chvatangakwunua used when he said his own name. The old Indian looked up and smiled. He pointed at the carving, inviting Stephen to tell him what it was. "Hoona," Stephen guessed._

"_Yes, yes, bear," Chavatangakwunua confirmed. "You have a keen eye, Taavo."_

_Taavo! Rabbit! It implied something small and helpless. Stephen hated it when the old man called him a rabbit; it was only slightly less insulting than the vulgar names Rosa tossed his way._

_Stephen's trailer was next, parked at a right angle to the Hopi's. As he turned the corner Stephen felt a curse form on his lips. A man was sitting on their entrance steps. So his mother had brought home another "friend." And since he was sitting outside, it probably meant their air conditioner had quit again. _

_Wonderful._

_Keeping his eyes trained on his feet, Stephen walked up to the trailer and tried to climb over the body on the steps without acknowledging its presence. The next thing he knew, something hit him in the gut and he went flying backwards. He landed on his back; it was a jarring, bruising collision that would have caused serious injury if the ground wasn't a soft mix of sand and dirt. _

_Stephen's reaction was immediate and instinctive. He shrugged off his backpack and popped to his feet. Raising his skinny arms in front of his face, he curled his hands into fists and silently dared the man to attack him again. _

_Grinning wolfishly, the man slowly unfolded his large body from the steps. From Stephen's perspective the man was a giant, at least a foot taller than he was and more than double his weight. But Stephen had taught himself to never back down and to never show fear, so he lowered his head and charged forward. _

_The man barely touched him, or so it seemed, but Stephen found himself back in the air, cartwheeling through space. It might have resulted in another nasty fall, but Stephen felt the pull of gravity, determined which way was down and managed to twist his body so that he landed on his feet. He wobbled slightly but didn't topple over._

"_Not bad," the man said, "for someone without training." He stalked around Stephen, his dark eyes shining under thick black brows. "You're small for twelve, but agile."_

_Stephen didn't rise to the bait, didn't ask how the man knew how old he was. Instead, he mimicked the giant's movements, circling slowly, outside the reach of the man's arms should he attempt to use them. _

_The man made a swift move, darting toward Stephen and swinging at him with his right arm. Stephen sensed it was a feint, and rather than lurch away, he ducked under the arm and ran behind his foe. The man's leg chopped the air where Stephen would have been if he had backed away from the punch._

"_Bright, too," the man acknowledged as he spun around to face Stephen again. "I understand you're in the ninth grade already."_

_Shrugging, Stephen gave the stock answer he always gave when anyone commented on his placement in school. "When teachers don't know what to do with me, they jump me to a higher grade."_

"_And good with languages. How many do you speak? Four? Five?"_

_Again, Stephen shrugged. This man knew way too much about him. His mother must have been in one of her babbling moods, bragging about her gifted son._

"_It must be difficult, to be so smart and so puny, in classes with kids who are older, bigger and jealous."_

_Now the man was stating the obvious. It almost made Stephen laugh out loud to hear such stupidity. Instead, he sneered and said, "Go fk yourself."_

"_Foul mouthed. We'll have to work on that, as well as on... other things." On the last word the man moved faster than Stephen would have thought possible for someone so large. Before Stephen could react, his attacker had grabbed him by one arm and one leg and flung him to the ground, never letting go of Stephen's arm. It twisted up behind Stephen as he fell on his stomach, with the man dropping on top of him._

_Pinned helplessly to the ground, with excruciating pain flowing from fingertips to shoulder, Stephen snarled, "Is that the best you can do?"_

"_No," the man answered, "but it's all I need to do." He released Stephen and stood. "You don't let pain rule you. I think I can work with that." Pulling Stephen to his feet as easily as if he weighed no more than a feather, he said, "I'm a relative a couple of times removed. You can call me Uncle David. I'm here to teach you."_

Sitting on the sofa with his right hand pressing gauze to his left side, Will felt the past fade away, but the image of Uncle David Fancher remained.

Fancher had taken over Stephen's life. He'd supervised his academic studies and trained him in martial arts, military strategy and weaponry. He'd instilled in him a deep desire to serve his country, which had led him to the military then Operation Hometown.

Will had never questioned Fancher's guidance or motives because they'd shared the same patriotic ideals.

But it was Fancher who had introduced him to Jack Freed. And it was Fancher who had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth when Will had tried to reach him for advice before the Drexler.

Coincidence? Secrets within secrets? Something else?

With fresh bandages in place, Will stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. But he found he couldn't relax, as thoughts slipped in and out of his mind like wisps of smoke. They were a mixed jumble of suspicion, anger and guilt. After ten minutes of muddled mental turmoil he sat back up. Too tired to focus but too wired to sleep, he slipped on shoes and Tyler's jacket and left the suite.

xxx

The man seated in the windowed breakfast nook was slender and middle-aged. The gray that streaked his brown hair almost exactly matched the color of his eyes. After finishing a simple meal of fresh fruit, buttered wheat toast and coffee, he picked up the top paper from the stack that he had delivered to his Denver home every morning. As he read the lead story about the limousine explosion in New York City, his cell phone rang. The ring tone identified the caller.

He retrieved the phone from the pocket of his silk dressing gown. "Good morning, Jon. How did it go after we talked last night?"

"Exactly as I expected. I followed them as planned. About seven blocks from the scene, Traveler jumped me. I told him we were on the same side, but he wouldn't listen."

"That's unfortunate. It would have made your job much easier."

"We both knew it was unlikely that he'd trust me," Jon said, "especially after Deer Harbor."

"And the rest? You sound fine, so I assume he didn't hurt you."

"A few bumps, nothing more. I had to put up a fight or he would have been suspicious."

"Then he took the gun?"

"Yes, he took the gun. They're in a hotel on the Upper East Side. I booked the room right below theirs. I was able to snake a microphone up through the duct work. That will allow me to keep tabs on them while I catch up on some shut eye."

"Very good. As always, your performance exceeds my expectations."

"It wasn't that difficult to know what we had to do," Jon said. "Once they were together, the tracer in the watch was on borrowed time. Eventually, Fog would have told Traveler and he would have destroyed it. I can't see Traveler tossing the gun; it's too useful. And as long as they have it, we'll know where they are."

end of Episode 1


	2. Chapter 2

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

EPISODE TWO: THE WARRIOR

(Many thanks to chattypandagurl, who kindly and skillfully beta-ed this chapter for me.)

_For every one hundred men you send us,  
Ten should not even be here.  
Eighty are nothing but targets.  
Nine of them are real fighters;  
We are lucky to have them, they the battle make.  
Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior.  
And he will bring the others back.  
_- Heraclitus

Jay had thought he'd sleep the day away, but when he checked the bedside clock he saw it was only a little past noon. Light was creeping in around the borders of the drapes, brightening the room so he could see that the other bed was empty.

He moved carefully as he sat up and was relieved to feel only a moderate twinge in his back. Given their situation, there was no way he could have sought medical treatment if the damage had been significant.

After opening the drapes he slipped into his jeans and t-shirt, the sweet smell of detergent a welcome change from days-old sweat. He was glad that Will had suggested using the laundry. He smirked, wondering if "laundry on the run" was taught in Spy Class. It was something he would have asked his friend Will, something they probably would have chuckled over. But there was no such thing as ordinary conversation with Will the stranger. Their current attempts to communicate tended to be stilted and awkward or outright confrontational.

The suite had two bathrooms; he used the one connected to the bedroom before heading into the outer room, where Tyler was sitting at the computer. He glanced up as Jay entered. "I was checking for an update on my dad. There's nothing new, which I guess is good."

"Any mention of Kim?"

"No. But that has to be a good thing. If there was a problem, the TV would be all over the story. They're like leeches when it comes to sensational news."

"Yeah," Jay said, but that didn't stop him from worrying. "Have you been up for long?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes." Tyler narrowed his eyes and pointed to the door. "Will's gone."

Jay could feel a tightness clamp about his chest. Had Will taken off on his own? Two weeks ago he would have trusted Will with his life; now the first thing to pop into his mind was that Will had abandoned them. Again.

"Did he leave a note?"

"No. But the bulk of the money is still here. So is his pack. It's filled with enough weaponry to invade a small country. So I guess he's coming back."

"Nice of him to tell us," Jay said, recognizing that another reason why they were having communication problems was because, quite often, Will simply chose not to communicate. Either they were working together or they weren't, and that was something that needed to be resolved.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drew Jay to the pot on the counter. Water was still dripping through the filter, telling him that Tyler had made it–which left no clue as to when Will had left. "No note," he repeated.

"He didn't clear the history. He's been running searches on the names from the Holloway list."

"Or he left a history for us to find," Jay said, recalling Will's duplicity with the stolen cars. Which was nothing compared to the lies and deceit when they were together at Yale. "Do you trust him?"

"Yes. No." Tyler shrugged. "I don't know. Since we met up outside of Fervor, Will hasn't done anything suspicious that I know about. But I hadn't suspected anything for the past two years, either."

"You weren't supposed to."

Jay whirled around to find Will standing in the now open door to the suite. _How in the hell had he opened the door without making so much as a whisper of noise? _

Will was carrying two large backpacks, one slung over each shoulder. From the way they bulged, both were close to full. He lined them up against the wall near the door and, crouching down, unzipped the green one and pulled out the top package.

When he started across the room with it, Jay blocked his way. "The next time you go out, leave a note."

"To say what? I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back."

"If that's the truth, yes." Jay grabbed Will's shoulder when he tried to edge around him. "I mean it–no more secrecy."

"It wasn't a secret. You were sleeping."

"Leave a note," Jay repeated before releasing his hold.

"It's only polite," Tyler added in light tone. He pointed to the package that Will was carrying. "What's that?"

Will answered by gently dumping the contents onto the coffee table.

Jay fingered through the items. Thick-rimmed glasses. Wire-rimmed glasses. An assortment of fake facial hair that ranged in color from medium blond to dark brown. Packages that contained items to change the shape of the cheeks and nose. Hair rinses in a variety of shades.

"The best disguises are simple ones," Will explained. He split open one of the packages and stuffed its contents in his mouth. His cheeks went from lean to chubby. When he added the thick-rimmed glasses, Jay wasn't sure he'd have recognized him if he hadn't watched the transformation.

"Let me try," Tyler said.

But Will whisked the items back into the bag. "It's not a game," he said condescendingly. "We save this stuff for when we need it." He nodded to the backpacks. "Let's get them unloaded. I bought another computer, GPS tracking system, clothes...well, you'll see. Jay, you take the blue pack. I'll take the green one. Tyler, order up some food. We eat, then we get to work."

xxx

Jan Marlow walked slowly around her dining table, an oversized coffee cup in her left hand. Her file on the Drexler was spread over the shiny wood surface. As she continued to circle the table, sipping her coffee and looking from scribbled note to printed sheet to picture, she reviewed the case in her mind.

Time after time during the investigation she'd questioned the logic of evidence and events. Some things simply hadn't made sense, such as Burchell and Fog's trip to New Haven to destroy material that was already on the Internet.

Then, in the alley behind Fervor, she'd instinctively known that Fog wouldn't shoot the uniformed cop. There was never a sense of menace from Fog or Burchell, not even when Burchell had phoned in the bomb threat. She wasn't ready to declare them innocent, but she was prepared to reexamine everything from a new perspective, one that presumed they were telling the truth when they said they were the victims of a conspiracy.

Stopping at one corner of the table, she tapped her finger against a grainy black and white print out–it was the only picture they had of Will Traveler. When their initial investigation of Traveler hadn't turned up anything, they had stopped researching the name because they'd decided he didn't exist.

But he was very real; she'd met him. And unlike Fog and Burchell, Traveler _had_ projected a sense of menace.

It's time to find out who and what Will Traveler was.

Pleased to have a focus, Marlow scanned her notes until she found a specific name with two phone numbers next to it. She dialed the second and bullied her way past a secretary to reach her target.

"Mr. Hahn, this is Agent Marlow of the FBI."

"I don't have time to talk. I'm getting ready for an important meeting. Besides, I've already told you everything I know."

"This will only take a minute. I promise. At Yale, did you know a Will Traveler?"

"We didn't run in the same circles, but I met him a few times. He shared a house with Tyler Fog and Jay Burchell."

"So he was a graduate student?"

"I just told you that he lived with them in grad student housing."

"Do you know what he was studying?"

"It was math, maybe. No, that's not right. It was engineering, chemical engineering."

"Thank you, ." She hung up the phone.

A quick search of the Internet produced a list of phone numbers for the chemical engineering department at Yale. The chairman of the department claimed not to remember a Will Traveler, but two professors did and confirmed that he had taken classes from them during the past two years.

_Interesting,_ she thought. Yale had no records for Traveler. The department chair denied knowledge of him. But his presence had been verified by Eddie Hahn and members of the faculty.

After setting aside the phone, she picked up the picture of Will Traveler. He didn't appear to be anyone special. But someone had removed his transcript from Yale. And someone had persuaded the chairman to forget that he existed.

Whoever Will Traveler was he had powerful associates. Then why was he on the run? And why had he told Burchell and Fog that if they wanted to clear their names, they should go with him?

Marlow crossed her arms and debated her next move. It was still early afternoon; she could rent a car and be in New Haven in less than two hours. The phone might be a more efficient use of her time, but she preferred to do her interviews in person when possible. Expressions and body language were sometimes more revealing than words.

Decision made, she stuffed her notes into a briefcase and raced out the door.

xxx

Will poked his fork into the scrambled eggs that Tyler had ordered for him. The congealed mass of yellow held no appeal. He could only force himself to eat three bites before pushing the plate aside.

Jay and Tyler were managing a bit better with the chew and swallow routine, though neither of them attacked their meals with any enthusiasm. Stress was evident in the lines etching their faces and in the dark shadows framing their eyes. Will was impressed that they'd held up as well as they had; it had been a brutal week for his former house mates.

"Two of the names on the Holloway list work for Fallbrook-Dunn," Will informed them. "Tyler, I need you to research the firm. See if you can find connections to anyone else on the list."

"I can do that," Tyler said. "I'll cross reference John Ellington as well. We know he was involved."

"Jay, see what you-"

Before Will could say more, Jay stood, shaking his head. "I can't do anything until I know Kim is okay. I should never have used her to lure Marlow to the club."

"I'm going to The Strand this afternoon," Will said. "They're holding two books on John Trumbull for me. I'll check on Kim while I'm out."

"I'd rather do it myself."

"That's not safe. Your face is all over the newspapers and television."

"Your picture will be joining ours soon," said Jay. "That FBI agent, Marlow, said they caught you on video."

"That won't make the news." Will was certain that the organization behind the Drexler would suppress all images of Will Traveler. That was how it worked in the spy business. Identities were created then dissolved. If you made an identity public, then it was likely that other identities would be exposed and questions would be raised.

The type of questions that Will, himself, maybe should have asked long before he'd joined the ranks of professional spies.

_Ten years earlier..._

_David Fancher studied his young nephew with the same intent a jeweler would use when inspecting a precious gem for flaws. Stephen held steady under the sharp gaze. Fancher was a harsh taskmaster and would punish any show of weakness. _

_Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Fancher nodded and said, "I've enrolled you in a new school, St. Felipe's Academy. You start next week." _

"_The private high school in Powder Creek? I've heard it has top notch labs, even an electron microscope."_

"_It's twenty miles from home," Uncle David said, meaning twenty miles from the condo he'd recently purchased for Stephen and his mother. _

"_I can ride my bike." Anything to get out of the Ralston school system._

"_I had something else in mind." Uncle David tossed him a set of keys. _

"_I don't understand. These are car keys."_

"_They are. There's a not-quite-new Nissan pickup that goes with them out front."_

"_A truck? For me?" Stephen was thirteen years old, not even eligible for a learner's permit. It must be some kind of test. His uncle was always testing him. _

"_You don't believe me." Uncle David sent another object spinning through the air. _

_Stephen caught it with his left hand. It was a wallet. He opened it and found himself staring at a driver's license with his picture on it, but the name and birth date were fabrications._

"_Your name is Jason McKenna," Uncle David said. "You're sixteen years old. You'll be a junior at St. Felipe's."_

_As easily as that, Stephen had become Jason. _

_He had never asked how his uncle had obtained false identification. _

_It wasn't as if the question hadn't occurred to him; he'd merely quelled it. Does the king ask the goose how it lays golden eggs? No. He simply savors the bounty_

_By quelling the question of "how," Stephen had never progressed to the more important question of "why." Why the name change to Jason, not to mention the many name changes that came later?_

"They aren't going to circulate my picture," Will repeated. "And Jay, I'll find Kim while I'm out. I'll make sure she's okay. I promise."

xxx

The first thing Carlton Fog became aware of was pain. It felt as if a spider had encased his chest in a steel net and was pulling it tight about his torso. Next, sound kicked in, beeps and chirps and an occasional whooshing. Last was light as he cracked open his eyes. At first everything was a blur. Then, gradually, objects came into focus: a gray ceiling, banks of equipment, a window with closed blinds, and a figure in khaki sitting stiff and upright in a chair.

He recognized the young man in the chair and leaned toward him. "Gabriel," his lips formed the word but he couldn't squeak out so much as a whisper.

"Dad, it's okay." Gabriel popped to his feet and put a gentle hand on Carleton's arm. "You'll be fine."

_Fine? _Then everything made sense: the pain, the noise, the equipment, the room decor. He was in a hospital.

"You were shot outside your club."

That was a tactful way to describe his arrest by the FBI.

"How?" Carlton asked, wanting to know how Gabriel had managed to be at his side when he was supposed to be stationed halfway around the world.

"They don't know who did it," Gabriel answered, misunderstanding the question. "But you're not to worry. I took the precaution of hiring a private security firm to guard your room."

It was typical of Gabriel to take charge. He was a good son, a strong son. Carleton tried to smile his approval and must have managed at least a close approximation because Gabriel smiled back.

"It's good to see you, Dad, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

Carleton gave the slightest of nods in reply. His body was lethargic, and his eyelids were drooping, shutting out the view of his younger son standing straight and tall in his military uniform. On that thought, he slipped back into oblivion.

xxx

Will closed his eyes and leaned against the inside wall of the phone booth while his mind replayed the conversation he'd just had with Mr. Doherty. Will had expected it to be difficult to pry information from the man, but the exact opposite had happened. After identifying himself as Special Agent Seth Watkins, Will had simply sat back and listened to Doherty's enraged tirade.

Kim's father had been frantic with worry. Kim was missing. She hadn't been home since she left for Fervor. The FBI agent in charge of the Drexler case, Fred Chambers, had admitted to questioning her, but swore that she'd been released the following day. Doherty's worst fear was that Kim was on the run with Jay. Will didn't try to reassure him on that point, because it wouldn't change the fact that Kim was quite possibly in very serious trouble.

A tendril of memory slithered unbidden into Will's mind-a voice. Maya's voice, calling for him. Pleading. Crying out in pain.

He hadn't told Jay and Tyler that Maya had been tortured before she'd been killed. That was his own private hell, knowing the dark oasis of terror and depravity that had filled Maya's final moments.

Now Kim was missing. And if the same people had her...

Will didn't allow the thought to complete itself. Instead, he took a deep breath and let his training take over. Almost immediately, what felt like a cool current washed all emotion from his mind; he was a weapon, as detached and precise as a computerized missile system.

Kim was missing. When he spoke to Mr. Doherty, Chambers had claimed to have released her. But the FBI shouldn't have let her go. Kim had aided and abetted a suspected terrorist, a man who had been involved in the deaths of FBI agents. There had been every reason to press charges against her and none to let her go.

Something was wrong, and he had to find out what. He'd promised Jay. And the place to start was with her last known contact.

Opening his eyes, Will scanned his surroundings. Almost immediately he spotted what he wanted: a coffee shop with Internet access halfway down the block on the other side of the street. During his time with Hometown he'd learned a trick or three about obtaining information over the Internet. It shouldn't take long to track down particulars on Special Agent in Charge Fred Chambers.

xxx

Jan Marlow clicked open the lock on her rental car and slid into the driver's seat. Short on sleep to begin with, racing around campus for three hours had left her mentally and physically exhausted. But the trip had been necessary, if only to confirm that Will Traveler had been a graduate student at the school for the past two years.

In retrospect she'd learned more than that. She'd spoken with one of Will's professors, the president of the student chemical engineering society, and two other graduate students, one of whom had been Traveler's lab partner in a class the year before. They all confirmed that Will Traveler had been a graduate student at the university and talked about him in a way that suggested he was remarkably unremarkable. His grades placed him in the middle of his peers. His work was good but not outstanding. He was polite and congenial, but didn't socialize with his fellow engineers. Furthermore, not one of them could remember if his eyes were blue or brown, if he parted his hair on the left, right, or not all, where he'd done his undergraduate work or the name of his hometown.

It painted a picture of a man who was adept at flying under the radar. Will Traveler had known that he was going to disappear, and he'd behaved in a manner that made it less likely that anyone would remember him.

She picked up her pen and began adding to her notes. _Professional. Faded into the background without apparent effort. Not at Yale to get an education. At Yale to get involved with Burchell and Fog. _

Two years. Traveler was at Yale for two years, to set up Burchell and Fog to take the fall for the Drexler. Which meant that the Drexler had been something much more than a random act of terrorism.

_The FBI is involved._

What did that mean? It sounded like a screwball notion put forth by a conspiracy theorist, to suggest that the Federal government was behind the bombing of a New York Museum. That just didn't happen except in the twisted minds of people who believed that the Royal Family had killed Princess Di or that Israel was behind 9/11.

Which was why Marlow couldn't share her suspicions with anyone until she had more proof, more facts–they'd all think she was crazy.

Sighing, she set her notebook aside and started the car. She had to get back to New York; more specifically, she needed to drive straight to Brooklyn, to pay her respects to Borjes' family.

xxx

Late for a meeting with her advisor, Jess Chambers wasn't finding it easy to navigate Columbia University's College Walk. The day was unseasonably warm and students were enjoying the outdoors. They filled the path, some ambling slowly while others gathered in unmoving clusters, jabbering away about this subject or that. It completely disrupted the normal flow of pedestrian traffic and thus hampered Jess' progress.

"Excuse me. Excuse me," Jess continued to repeat the words as she squirmed left then right, darting around other students as she hurried along. She'd almost worked her way to the main quadrangle when a young man, walking as quickly as she was but in the opposite direction, appeared out of nowhere. Before she could skid to a halt, they'd collided. The carryall that was slung over her right shoulder slipped off, tipping in the process. She watched with dismay as the contents spilled onto the herringbone brick walkway.

"Sorry," he said, dropping into a crouch at her feet. He retrieved her pack, then began to cram the scattered items back into it.

"It was probably my fault as much as yours," Jess admitted. "I was in a hurry." She looked down at the young man, who was so diligently gathering her belongings. From this angle she could only see the baseball cap that was perched on top of his head. "Let me do that. I don't want to keep you."

"It's done. Here's your pack." He thrust it sideways into her hands while regaining his feet.

"Uh, thank you," she said, but he'd already ducked into the crowd and disappeared from sight.

xxx

Tyler's eyes were bleary from staring at the computer. "That's it." He stood and stretched. "I don't even know what I'm looking for any more and my hand is cramped from taking notes."

"We need a printer," Jay said.

"We've got money; let's go out and buy one."

"Will told us to stay here."

"Since when is he in charge?"

Jay rubbed a hand over his chin. "He's not, but I didn't like it when he left without telling us first."

"And where do you think he is right now?" Tyler tapped at his watch. "He's been gone for more than three hours. To go to The Strand? He could have crawled there and back by now."

"Okay, you have a point."

"I know I do. Will is off doing his own thing. Let's do ours." Tyler walked to where Jay was slouched on the sofa. He took the laptop out of Jay's unresisting hands and set it on the coffee table. Stooping down so he could look his friend in the eyes, Tyler said, "You're worried about Kim. I want to see Gabe. I say we kill two birds with one stone."

"What are you suggesting?"

"We know the FBI is going to come down hard on Kim for helping you. She needs the power of Fog behind her."

"Oh, no." Jay shook his head from left to right and back again. "The last thing she needs is a John Ellington in her life."

"I'm not talking about Ellington or Fallbrook-Dunn or anything like that. You choose a law firm to defend Kim and Gabriel will supply the money."

"I don't think you should call your brother again. Any line Gabriel might use is going to be tapped by now."

"I wasn't going to call him." Tyler reached across the coffee table to Will's bag of disguises and pulled out the thick-rimmed glasses. "I'm going to see him. He won't be at the hospital all day. If I know Gabe, he'll go to the penthouse for dinner."

"Glasses aren't going to fool the FBI, and you have to bet they have someone watching the building."

"I'm not proposing we walk in the front door. There's a way into the penthouse that they won't be watching: the trash chute that runs into the basement."

"A trash chute. Are you crazy? Isn't your dad's place on the tenth floor."

"Eleventh," Tyler admitted. "The chute is square and plenty big enough. When they renovated the building, Dad had it made larger because bags kept getting stuck in the old one." He held his hands apart so that the space between them approximated the dimensions of the chute. "You put your back against one side, your feet against the other and shimmy up."

"You sound like you've tried this before."

"Only once. When I was eleven or twelve. Gabe dared me." Tyler remembered the long climb down the chute. Going up couldn't be much harder. "We're bigger than I was then. And stronger. That should make it easier."

"I can't believe I'm even considering this," Jay said.

Tyler sat silently, allowing Jay to reach a decision on his own. He wasn't surprised when, half a minute later, Jay raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm in. Kim risked everything for me. I have to find some way to help her."

xxx

Chambers looked at the fuzzy picture on the display screen. There were three figures standing by a phone booth on the corner opposite _The Citizen_. The image was so blurred he couldn't tell if they were men or women. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked. "You can't enhance it?"

"That is enhanced," said Agent Ted Burns, the department's graphic imaging expert. "The camera was half a block away-too far to pick up a clear picture. Someone knew what he was doing. He spotted the cameras and made sure they were never in a position to get decent shots."

_Traveler! _Chambers swore to himself.

"Don't give up yet," Burns said. "I've requested every security tape within a one mile radius of the explosion." The tall, lanky agent shrugged. "Maybe they got careless going to or from. We'll know when I get the tapes."

"Okay Keep at it and let me know-"

"Boss!" Ron Farrell, who had taken over as point man for the Drexler operation, ran into the office. "I've got a lead. We just got a call from a man who claims to have spotted Fog, Burchell and an unknown third man breaking into a boarded-up building on Canal."

"Canal. That's close to where police found that stolen car, the one that went missing not far from the crime scene." Maybe this was the break they needed. "What time did he see them?"

"He wasn't sure. Between ten and midnight."

"Last night! And he just called to report it?"

"Afraid so. He hung up before I could ask what took him so long."

"Dammit, can't anything go right?" Chambers pointed at Farrell. "Call NYPD and tell them to seal off the building. Then get our team together. We're going down there. Now."

xxx

Traffic was light and the sidewalks relatively empty in the upscale residential neighborhood between the hotel and the Fog penthouse. Even when there wasn't anyone in sight, Jay kept his face tilted down so that it was hidden under the brim of his baseball cap. You never knew when someone might look out their window. And to his mind, the slicked back hair, glasses and sports coat that Tyler had chosen for a disguise left him too exposed.

"How are we going to get into the basement?" he asked. "We can't walk in the front door."

"All of the basements on that block connect. I heard my father talking about it with his insurance agent. It meant he had to pay a higher premium. We'll go in through the Algonquin at the other end of the street. We're probably going to have to break a few locks between buildings." Tyler reached around and tapped the small pack on his back. "Which is why I brought along Will's tools."

With the sun going down, the temperature was dropping fast. Jay stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as he followed along, half a step behind Tyler. "How do you know your brother will help Kim?" he asked.

"Because Gabe is the best. He doesn't pass a beggar without handing over a few bucks. He isn't like my Dad: we can trust him."

The possibility of another betrayal hadn't even crossed Jay's mind. But if Will could frame them, if Carlton could sacrifice Tyler... "Are you sure we can trust Gabriel?"

"He's my little brother. Of course I'm sure."

xxx

The dour face on the police officer alerted Chambers to bad news before the man opened his mouth. "The building was empty," he reported. "The door was forced opened. A toilet had been flushed. The dust on the floor was disturbed. There was a crumpled fast food bag in one of the rooms."

"But nothing to connect the break and enter with my guys."

"No so far. We're checking for fingerprints and anything else our first sweep might have missed."

"If it was them, you won't find anything," Chambers predicted. "Call me when you're finished."

"Will do."

As he walked slowly back to where he'd left his car, Chambers pulled the cell phone out of his coat pocket and punched in a number.

"Whaley," said a voice on the other end of the phone.

"There was a possible sighting last night. I'll text you the address. They'll be long gone by now, but I want you to keep a record of where they've been. Maybe there's some kind of pattern that will tell us where they're headed."

"Traveler isn't going to be predictable or easy to track," Whaley said with certainty, "but I'll take a look, after I finish what I'm doing. We've got movement from Gabriel Fog. He left the hospital, caught a cab and appears to be headed uptown, maybe to the Fog penthouse. But in case he's arranged a meeting with his brother, I'm going to join the tail and keep watch for a bit."

Chambers paused in the act of opening his car door. "If there's any chance of contact, I want to know that you have enough people to do the job. Call Benson and Davenport."

"They're useless."

"Call them!"

_What next? _Chambers slid into the driver's seat and pounded the steering wheel.

"Feeling a little frustrated, Fred?"

Not even his training could prevent Chambers from stiffening in response to the soft voice that floated out of his backseat. "Who's there?"

"No, don't turn around. Put your hands on top of the steering wheel where I can see them. Keep your eyes facing forward. I have something I want to show you."

An arm reached around and showed him an open wallet with the driver's license displayed in a see-through inner pocket. _Jessie!_

"You bastard," Chambers swore and attempted to turn around, but the arm locked around his throat to prevent it.

"Calm down and listen, because it's not just you at risk. Your daughter is a beautiful young woman."

"Where is she? What have you done to Jessica?"

"Nothing-yet. And I won't have to do anything if you cooperate. Now are you ready to listen?"

"Yes."

"Good. First I want you to use your left hand to remove the gun from your shoulder holster. Hold it with your pinkie finger and pass it back to me."

Chambers could recognize a fellow professional. He transferred the gun as ordered. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Will."

"Traveler!"

"That's right."

Chambers bit back his anger. "What do you want?"

"Kim Doherty. People are worried about her."

"We let her go. I don't know where she is," Chambers said, playing for time, playing for a way to get the best of the bastard in the backseat, playing for anything that would keep his daughter safe.

"Then our conversation is over." The voice was frigid and uncompromising.

The click of the latch release sent Chambers into a panic. "Wait, wait. What are you going to do?"

"Something I'd rather wasn't necessary. But I have no choice, unless you take me to Kim. Now."

Slumping, Chambers said, "She's not far from here."

"Great. Start your car and let's get moving. And, Fred, I know what they taught you at Quantico. In a vehicular hostage situation you're supposed to crash the car. Don't even think about it. Keep it slow and steady. If I detect even a hint of anything suspicious–say, you hit the brakes a little harder than I'd like-I won't hesitate to kill you. And then I'll kill your daughter."

xxx

Marlow shifted the shopping bag from her left hand to her right. It felt like it had grown heavier during the three block walk from where she'd parked her rental car. She hadn't considered the possibility of a long walk when she'd stopped at a delicatessen on her way to Brooklyn. But she should have realized that parking spots would be at a premium. The Borjes' family had a wide circle of friends and relatives.

Not much further, she told herself as she turned onto a tree lined street. The houses were small and old, but they reflected a pride of ownership that would have done a neighborhood of mansions proud. Even under the limited light from the partial moon, she could see that every lawn was well manicured, that every flowerbed was lovingly nourished.

Halfway down the block she turned into a walkway that led to a two-story wood frame house with a wide front porch. She'd been here many times before, a welcome guest for Thanksgiving feasts, family parties, and the best Superbowl bash she'd ever attended. Which made today's visit all the more difficult.

The door opened less than a minute after she put her finger to the bell. "Mr. Borjes," she said, giving the silver-haired man a one-armed hug, "I am so sorry."

"Jan. Come in, come in." He held the door wider. "And let me take that."

"It's food," she said, handing over the bag, "but nothing homemade. You know I don't cook."

Borjes' mother, sister and two brothers surrounded her before she could pass through the foyer. She marveled at their strength and compassion as they tried to comfort her while she offered condolences to them.

She was led into the living room, introduced or re-introduced to uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Borjes had left behind so many people who had loved him. Then it was on to the kitchen where the table was laden with food. She protested that she wasn't hungry, but an aunt shooed aside her objection and filled a plate with enough food for two people.

"Guillermo, this is how he wanted it," the aunt said as she led Marlow to a seat in the dining room. "A gathering of friends and tomorrow's mass. Nothing else." Marlow nodded, unable to speak. She remembered Borjes' telling her how he'd planned his funeral before he'd left for Iraq. He said it would make it easier on his family if anything happened.

The table had been purchased with large family gatherings in mind and could easily seat twenty people. When Marlow entered the room, there were a half dozen empty seats. Most people would have come and gone before she arrived, but still the house felt full. She passed Baird and Ellis from her office, but didn't take the seat next to them. Instead, she gravitated to the far end of table, where six men, including two who wore the uniform of the United States Marine Corps, were clumped together.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the chair beside the largest man in the group.

On hearing her voice he stood and held out the chair. "Not at all," he said as she took a seat.

"Thanks. I'm Jan Marlow. Borjes and I-"

"You're his partner," the man finished for her. "I'm Pete Hanley." He held out his hand. "I served with Borjes for three years. He talked about you at our gatherings."

"You're the friends he got together with the third Friday of every month?"

The man smiled. "Yeah. Any of the old gang who were in the area would show up. Borjes was a regular. We shot a little pool, drank a few beers. Though for Borjes it was never more than one beer. He was always constant, steady, dependable." Hanley grimaced, hesitating over something, then said, "Look, we don't want to trespass on your grief, but would you join us for a drink later? We can't leave it like this, not without knowing more about how he died."

"I can understand that, and I'll fill you in on what I know. If you don't mind, I have some questions for you as well."

"We'll see what we can do for each other."

xxx

Jay directed the flashlight while Tyler attacked the locked door. It was the third in a series of doors they'd encountered as they'd trekked through dark, damp basements on their way to the building that housed the Fog penthouse.

"This one is harder than the others," Tyler said as he twisted Will's tool left and right.

"I think you need to hold it straighter," Jay said. "Let me try."

He handed Tyler the flashlight and took Will's lock tool. Jay jammed the edge straight into the keyhole and was rewarded with a sharp click as the lock sprung open.

"Not bad," Tyler said. "If your law career doesn't pan out, you have burglary as a fall back option."

Smiling, Jay tugged on the heavy door. It was poorly hung and scraped against the floor, but he finally worked it open to where they could squeeze through. "Only if it pays enough to take care of my loans."

"Only you, Jay, would be concerned about school loans while considering a career in burglary. It's what I love about you."

Taking the lead, Tyler directed his flashlight around the room until the beam found a door. "This way," he said.

"What if we can't get through to your father's building?"

"Then we go back. At least we'd have tried."

"Gabriel might not even be there."

"He'll be there," Tyler insisted as they paused at an intersection. After only a short hesitation, he turned right. "Brenda, my dad's housekeeper, is like a second mother to him. He'll know she'd have hit the kitchen as soon as she heard he was home. He won't disappoint her."

"A housekeeper..." Jay groaned. "How many other people are likely to be there?"

"Hopefully, no one. She's the only live-in." Tyler halted. "This is a dead end. We probably should have turned left back there." He swung around to retrace their route.

Jay stayed close to Tyler's heels. "We should have brought two flashlights."

"Yeah. Next time we'll know better."

"Next time we'll hopefully be able to use the front door," Jay said. He squinted into the gloom ahead of them and saw what appeared to be a heavy door. "Is that another fire door?"

"It is." Tyler walked up and tested the knob. "And would you look here. It's not locked. That's a good omen. It means we're going to get to the penthouse, talk to Gabe and take care of Kim."

Kim. It was why Jay had agreed to this crazy expedition. He shouldn't have gotten her involved. Now he had to make sure she was safe.

"See that copper pipe?" Tyler directed the light to the ceiling above them. That's new, which means this is the Claymore; they redid the plumbing last spring. So my dad's building is next." He gave a short whoop of triumph. "We're almost there."

Jay reached into his back pocket and pulled out the cell phone they'd brought with them. It was one of the phones Will had bought the night before.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asked.

"Turning it off."

"I thought you were going to leave it on vibrate in case Will tried to reach us."

"Do we really want to talk to him if he calls now?"

"Uh...no. Turn it off."

"Done." Jay flipped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket..

"I thought he would have called by now," Tyler said. "He should have been back at the hotel hours ago. Do you think he got caught?"

"No," Jay said with surety. When Will had been captured in Deer Harbor, his former associates had known he'd show up there. They'd had the time and resources to prepare for his arrival. Now Will shouldn't be any easier to find than a needle in a haystack. "But I wish we knew where he was. I don't like it when he disappears."

xxx

Will tucked Chambers' gun into the back of his jeans and pulled his jacket over the bulge. Chambers had said there were three men guarding Kim. As much as the FBI agent was worried about his daughter, Will didn't entirely trust the information he'd provided. There might be three or there might be more; he wouldn't put it past Chambers to lie in the hope that Will would get himself killed while trying to rescue Kim.

Standing in the shadows beside Chambers' car, Will studied the plain facade of the building where Kim was being held prisoner. A single light, mounted some twenty feet above the street, provided the only illumination. There were no windows. He concluded that the only way in was through the unmarked steel door.

Will still didn't know why Kim was being held in this particular location or who was holding her. Was it official or nefarious? Later, he'd interrogate Chambers. There wasn't time to do that now. Any delay might put Kim at risk.

With that in mind, Will approached the building without hesitation and pounded on the door. "Let me in," he called. "Chambers sent me."

A man in a suit, the type that FBI agents typically wore, opened the door. Will could see another man, also in a suit and tie, on the far side of the room. "Chambers sent me," he repeated as he pushed past the first man before he could slam the door in his face. "I'm here to pick up the girl."

Suit Two studied Will with suspicion. "We weren't told she was being moved."

Will shrugged. "Someone forgot to make a call. It happens all the time." He moved to the center of the room, where there was plenty of room to maneuver.

"We can't just hand her over," Suit Two said, walking toward Will.

Will heard footsteps behind him as Suit One approached him from the other side. They wanted him trapped between them until they verified who he was. It was what he'd expected them to do, what he was counting on. He wanted them close to each other, so he could attack them in quick succession. He didn't want to give either of them a chance to pull a weapon. And he didn't want to have to use a gun himself. Gunfire would signal trouble to anyone else in the building.

"So, where's the girl?" he asked.

"I'm going to need verification from Chambers." Suit Two pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

He was little further away than Will would have liked, but it might not get much better. And the distraction of the phone call would help to make up for the distance.

When Will sensed that Suit One was almost on top of him, he spun around and delivered a knee to the man's groin followed by a quick elbow to his face. Will continued turning to his right until he'd come full circle.

Suit Two responded a tad faster than he would have liked. He was on top of Will, throwing a punch toward his midsection before Will could go on the attack. Will leaned away from the blow, so it wasn't a square hit, but it deflected at an angle that brought it in contact with the wound in his side. The explosion of pain caused his breath to catch in his throat, but it also sent a fresh charge of adrenaline shooting through him.

Before Suit Two could follow up on the blow, Will dove in close, slamming his fists into the man's chest one, two, three times, until the man reeled and doubled over.

Will angled to where he could see both men. Suit One was gagging, but he was also reaching into his jacket, probably for a gun. Will head butted him in the chin. There was the cracking sound of bone splintering before the man toppled over, stiff and graceless. He hit the floor with a solid thud.

Before Will could turn back to Suit Two, thick arms wrapped around him, one pulling at his neck and the other at his waist. But Will was on automatic now, his body responding instinctively and without conscious effort. He threw himself backwards, using the other man's momentum against him. They both tumbled to the floor, but Will was faster. He scrambled around and punched Suit Two's face. Blood exploded from his opponent's nose. The pain infuriated Suit Two and he lashed out with arms and legs. While many of the blows connected, they were feeble efforts that were no more annoying than a gnat's sting. They were easy to ignore as Will reached around for the gun tucked in his jeans. He grasped it by the barrel, then swung it in a long arc until it connected with side of Suit Two's head.

Will staggered to his feet while scanning the room with his eyes. There was no sign of anyone else. After confirming that both men in suits were unconscious, he tucked the gun back into his jeans and headed for the short flight of stairs that Chambers had mentioned when describing where to find Kim.

The corridors were as anonymous as the building. The walls were blank. Doors were uniformly open and led into empty rooms. It didn't have the feel of a permanent facility, so Kim likely wouldn't have been kept here for long. Maybe it was a stop on the way to Guantanamo. Will didn't dwell on the myriad of possibilities; it was more important to stay focused on the task at hand.

After what felt like a minute and a half, he turned a corner and spotted a bruiser of a man in sweatshirt and jeans sitting on a chair some six feet down the corridor. There was a closed door to the left of the chair. That had to be where Kim was.

The man was working a crossword puzzle, but not so intently that he didn't sense Will's presence. He glanced up without urgency. Upon spotting Will, his casual expression quickly turned to one of shock and surprise. He released the pencil and paper and jumped to his feet.

"Who are you?"

The moment of hesitation was all that Will needed. He charged down the hall and rammed his shoulder into a hard core of chest muscle. It knocked the guard into the wall. Will grabbed him by the ears and twisted him around. He banged the man's face into the wall until his body went limp. Will released his hold and the man crumpled to the floor.

Three down. Chambers had said there were only three. But in case someone was with Kim, Will freed his gun before releasing the latch that secured the door. This was the point of the operation when a quick kill might be necessary-anyone with professional training would use Kim as a hostage if given half a chance.

xxx

A series of thuds pulled Kim out of a restless sleep. Startled, she sat up, disoriented and only half awake. By the time she remembered where she was, the pounding had stopped, but another sound replaced it. The click of the door lock.

She jumped to her feet just as the door opened.

"Will." Kim found herself backing into a corner at the sight of the familiar, yet not familiar face. The gun in Will's hand and his combative stance suggested someone about to wreak violence. But it was his glacial and threatening eyes that had her quivering with fear. Killer's eyes, she would have said, though seconds ago she couldn't have described what killer's eyes looked like.

She wanted to beg him not to hurt her but was shaking so hard she couldn't get her lips to form words.

"Kim." And just like that the killer was gone. "Are you all right?" he asked while tucking the gun into his jeans. "Did they hurt you?"

_They... _He'd said _they_, distancing himself from her captors. "No," she said warily. "I...I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She felt wobbly and outraged at the same time. "I was so afraid, but Will... Will. How could you? How could you do that to Jay and Tyler?"

"We don't have time for that," he said. "We have to leave."

Kim took a hesitant step forward while wrapping her arms about her chest, trying to return warmth to her shivering body.

Will slipped out of his jacket and went to put it around her shoulders. She snatched it from his hands before he could touch her. "I can do it myself."

"We need to leave," he repeated, firm but gentle.

Kim gulped and nodded. She forced her feet to move, and with each step her gait became less tentative.

Just outside the door to the room they passed the man who had brought her meals. He was slumped on the floor, with blood trails flowing from his nose. He was unconscious or dead. She didn't want to know which.

Will led her through the maze of corridors as easily as if he'd designed the building. He walked at a brisk clip. But the way he kept looking over his shoulder to check on her, she was sure that he'd slow down if she fell behind.

He led her through hallways that all looked alike to her. Then they came to a short flight of stairs that she remembered, and at the bottom was the large, empty room that had both startled and frightened her when they'd brought her here. Halfway down the stairs she saw that the room was no longer empty–there were two more unmoving bodies, both wearing suits and ties.

"Did you do that?" she asked, trying to conceptualize how that could be possible, when both men, as well as the one upstairs, were much larger than Will. It wasn't the gun, because there hadn't been any gunfire. It would have woken her, she was sure.

Instead of answering her question, Will simply said, "Hurry." He maneuvered her around the fallen men and out the door to a dark sedan parked in the alley. Will directed her to its passenger seat, fastened her seat belt when her hands proved too shaky to manage the job, and took off.

As they pulled out of the alley she saw that they were in lower Manhattan, somewhere in the warren of streets that made up Chinatown. It didn't seem possible that she'd been so close to something so familiar. The windowless room had felt like another world.

Will turned left, heading uptown. Traffic was heavy and they were soon blocked on all sides by unmoving vehicles waiting for the light to change.

Will used the lull to pull a cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a ten digit number from memory, finishing just as the car in front of him began to move.

"The consulate general, please." There was a pause while someone on the other end spoke, then Will said, "Daniel Taft."

After that, while Kim could hear Will's side of a long and animated conversation, she didn't understand a single word until the very end. "Do sividaniya." _Good-bye_.

"I didn't know you spoke Russian."

"Only a little." Will edged the car into the lane to his left.

It had sounded like more than a little to Kim. She recalled the five passports and Joseph saying _Your country appreciates it. _Which country? "Are you a Russian spy?," she asked. "Is that what this is all about?"

"No." He spared her a quick glance. "I'm trying to help you. You're in danger, more danger than you can possibly realize."

"I realize more than you think. Tyler said the FBI was involved in the Drexler. I was brought from an FBI holding cell to that... that building."

"And they could have done anything with you from there. Taken you out of the country, used you against Jay. The people who planned the Drexler-"

"You planned the Drexler and set up Jay and Tyler to take the blame. I heard the tape, the conversation you had with Joseph."

"I was part of it," Will said, "but I'm not now. My former associates aren't happy about that, and they aren't happy that Jay and Tyler are still alive. For Jay and Tyler's sake, and for your own, you need to be somewhere safe."

The total detachment in Will's voice cut to the core of Kim's being. He admitted to betrayal and talked of life and death matters without any emotion, without any sense of personal involvement. That, more than anything, made his warning all the more frightening. Kim crossed her arms in front of her chest, knowing she had to listen to what he had to say. "I take it you have some place in mind."

"The Russians have agreed to shelter you in their New York consulate."

"Why would they do that? I don't trust you. I trust Jay. I want to be with Jay."

"Even if that puts Jay in danger? If someone gave him a choice between your life and his own, which would he choose?"

There was no question in Kim's mind that Jay would put her safety first. She slumped in her seat, her fingers worrying at the bottom of the borrowed jacket she wore. "How are the Russians involved?"

"They aren't. They owe me a favor. Your parents can't protect you. The police can't protect you–you were snatched from the offices of the FBI. The consulate is like foreign soil. You'll be safe there. It might be the only place you'd be safe."

"How long would I have to stay?"

"I don't know."

With everything that had happened., Kim wanted nothing more than to feel safe and secure again. But she didn't know if that would ever be possible, because safe and secure for her meant that Jay would be at her side and cleared of all charges. In the meantime, it didn't appear as if she had many options. She didn't know if she trusted Will, but he had rescued her from those other men. And while he'd told Joseph that Jay and Tyler would die in the bombing, Jay had told her that Will had asked if they were out before the bomb exploded.

"All right," she finally said. "I'll go to the consulate. For now."

It was a long, slow drive to East 91st Street. Both of them remained silent for the rest of the trip. Kim stared out the window to her right and thought about Jay, about the life they were supposed to share right here in New York. It would never happen now. They could never go back to the bright promise and innocence that would have been the core of their life. Because of Will.

"We're here." Will stopped in the no parking zone in front of the city landmark mansion that housed the Russian Consulate of New York. Illuminated by powerful spotlights, it stood out like a glittering jewel. "I need to clear it with the guard," Will said, slipping out of the car.

The stopped car had immediately drawn the attention of two uniformed sentries. One of them walked out to meet Will before he made it halfway to the wrought iron fence that provided security. Kim could hear the murmur of Russian pass back and forth between them, but the conversation was brief and ended with the guard pointing toward her and nodding in the affirmative.

When Will turned back to the car, he was caught in one of the spotlights. His right arm, that had been draped across his torso, shot up to shield his eyes. Kim's eyes were drawn downward, to an abstract pattern on the lower left portion of Will's light gray t-shirt. It took her half a second to realize the _design_ was actually blood.

_Blood on cotton _flowed unbidden into her mind, as if she were describing an art medium to a potential customer at the gallery.

_Blood_.

It hadn't been there earlier. She would have noticed. Little escaped her photographer's eye. As Will drew closer, she could make out the bulge of a bandage under his shirt. So it was an old injury, not one that had occurred during her rescue, but one that had possibly been aggravated during the thumping she had heard.

Kim found her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. If Will was hurt... he'd been with Jay and Tyler. She'd determined that while being questioned by the FBI.

_Please, _she prayed, _let Jay be okay._

Will opened her door. "I'll have Jay call you; he'll want to hear your voice."

Relief washed through Kim. Jay was going to call. He wasn't somewhere bleeding to death, or worse.

But the few minutes when worry had clawed at her increased her fury with Will. After exiting the car, she glared at him with all the rage she could muster. "You've ruined our lives."

Will's face was a blank mask in response. He gestured her forward, staying just behind her during the short walk to the now open gate. "You'll be safe here," he said.

Kim didn't turn to watch him leave. Instead, she stared at the building in front of her. Safe... perhaps she would be safe, but it was still a prison. And it was still separation from Jay.

xxx

Tyler watched as Jay pushed the oversized door open. It moved easily and soundlessly. When they'd upgraded the building, they'd used only the finest materials, even here in the basement.

"This place stinks," Jay said, his right arm going up to cover his nose.

"It's a trash room," Tyler said. "What did you expect?" Pinching his own nose between the thumb and index finger of his left hand, he swirled the flashlight beam along the wall until he found the light switch. He turned it on, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light. It had taken over thirty minutes to work their way through the connecting basements, with only the single flashlight to guide their way.

Visually, the room was as he remembered it. "These two," he said, pointing to large blue trash bins on his left and right, "serve the other floors. The one straight ahead is what we want."

Jay walked to the where the four-foot high bin rested against the far wall. Leaning over its side, he canted his head up to examine the chute. "It's not as big as I expected."

"But we'll fit," Tyler said, bending his upper body so that he was looking up the black chimney that led to the penthouse. It was dark and he couldn't see very far, not even when he aimed the flashlight up the chute. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be away from the smell," he said.

"How do we get inside?"

Tyler looked around. That hadn't been a consideration when he'd started at the top. "I remember seeing a ladder in the building before this one. We'll have to push the bin out of the way and use it."

It took their combined effort to move the bin, then Tyler sent Jay to get the ladder. Now that they were here, Tyler wasn't at all sure it was a smart idea.. It was a long climb, with no guarantee that Gabe would be at the other end. Then there was the little matter of an exit strategy. Would they have to go back down the chute?

At least they were doing something, he reasoned as Jay returned with the ladder. Besides, Gabriel needed him and Kim needed Jay. They had to make this work.

It only took a few minutes to put the ladder in place and climb inside. The walls of the chute weren't so smooth that Tyler's shoe soles on one side and his jeans on the other couldn't find traction. But it was a tight squeeze, and Tyler's legs were bent to where his knees were almost level with his chin. Slowly, he began to inch his way upward, with Jay just below him doing the same.

xxx

Pete Hanley used the GPS system in his Jeep to find a nearby neighborhood tavern. The bar was crowded when they arrived. But they managed to secure a large round table in the corner when the people who had been sitting there saw that part of their group was in uniform and insisted on turning it over to "the brave men who are serving our country."

Hanley, Stewart, Mendez, Burke, Carson and Carson, Marlow had managed to put names to each face, except for the twins. Dressed in matching outfits, she couldn't tell the Carsons apart. But their comrades apparently could, referring to one as Crazy and the other as Chip. When Stewart called out for drink requests, she made careful note of where each twin was sitting in order to keep them straight.

Twenty minutes later, as Marlow finished telling them what she knew about Borjes' death, she rested her hands on the table and twined her fingers into a mesh of anguish. "I wasn't with him. I'll always regret that. I might have been able to do something."

Hanley nodded that he understood. "Fate twists us in cruel ways. Nobody knew that better than Borjes. He wouldn't want you to fret over what might have been."

"I know." That would help someday, but not quite yet.

"You had something to ask us."

"Yes. I was reviewing Borjes' case notes, and there was something I didn't understand. It was a short reference to Iraq. I wondered if it meant anything to you."

"Go on."

"It was just four words: _Will Traveler, Iraq, Nightingale._"

"Nightingale!" Stewart exclaimed. "Now that's a name I'll never forget. And neither would Borjes, Burke, Crazy and a couple of others who served with us."

Crazy raised his glass in a silent toast. "None of our patrol would have made it back to base if Nightingale hadn't shown up."

So Nightingale was a person. "Would you tell me the story?"

Burke began the narrative. "We were pinned down in a nasty section of town. We'd responded to a car bombing, but it was a setup. They were waiting for us. We made it to a one-room hovel, dragging Crazy here, who'd taken a bullet in the thigh. My ears were ringing from the rat-a-tat of enemy guns. It sounded as if there were a hundred of them. There weren't, but there were enough.

"Borjes had Bonehead Wilson call for backup, but we didn't know if it would get there in time. The attack was well planned, and we suspected the road was already cut off. Choppers would have done the trick, but wind was whipping the dust around and the birds were grounded."

"I remember the heat," Stewart said. "It was early morning, but it was already choking hot. Sweat was pouring off my body. Meanwhile, the walls of our shelter were being chipped away by small arms. That was bad enough. Then the roof exploded. That's when I began to pray-I knew the next shell would be our end."

Stewart shivered. "But the next shell never came. And gradually the gunfire dwindled until it stopped completely. Then we heard a voice shout out, 'I'm an American. I'm coming in. Don't shoot.' And this kid walked in. He face was all gray-brown from the dust, but he had deep blue eyes and the right uniform. He was an American all right."

"He bent down and began to work on my leg," Crazy said. "I thought he was a medic and that the rest of his group was outside setting up a perimeter."

"But there wasn't anybody else," Stewart added, "except dead insurgents. There were fourteen of them. What was left of them, that is. That kid was a brutal killing machine. And that's when I knew that Nightingale wasn't a tall tale or something concocted by scared grunts to bolster their courage; he was real."

"Nightingale was his name?"

"No. Someone started to call him that because he swooped in like a bird to perform rescues when the situation was grim. Like the one we were in." Burke scratched his head. "The kid who rescued us, his name was Carrington; at least, that was the name on his uniform. But later, talking to others who had benefitted from Nightingale's particular expertise, they swore his name was something else and something else again. We might have thought there was a team of Nightingales except the description was always the same."

"His description." Marlow dug her hand into her purse and pulled out the picture that she'd shown around Yale that afternoon. "Does this man look familiar?"

Burke, Stewart, and Crazy passed the picture from hand to hand.

"Nightingale."

"Nightingale."

"I'd never forget those eyes. They had that same intensity when he patched up my leg. It's him."

"Do you know him?" Burke asked, returning the picture. "Because I'd really like to buy that man a beer or three."

Marlow shook her head. "I can't say that I know him, and I don't know how to contact him. But I'm hoping our paths will cross, and when they do, I'll pass along your invitation."

_To Will Traveler._

end of Episode Two


	3. Chapter 3

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

EPISODE 3: THE CURRENT

_Time is sort of a river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought into sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away. _**Marcus Aurelius**

"We're almost there." Tyler's voice drifted down the chute.

"You said that ten minutes ago," Jay grumbled. "If you ever suggest something like this again--"

"Shhhh...shhh. I'm at the penthouse." There was a light scraping sound, then, "Should I go in?"

_Now_ Tyler was asking for his advice. A bit late in the day. "We came all this way," Jay said. "What else is there to do?"

Bangs and more scrapes were followed by a whisper. "Okay, I'm in. Kitchen is dark. It sure smells good; Brenda's been cooking."

Jay inched his way to the top, where Tyler was waiting just outside the chute. Looking past him, Jay could make out the shadowy lines of appliances and cabinets. The only light was the faint gleam from a small bulb under the hood of an exhaust fan.

Tyler took hold of Jay's arm and helped him maintain his balance as he climbed out of the chute. Sighing with relief, Jay straightened his body and stretched his kinked muscles. His back, in particular, hadn't liked the cramped nature of the climb. He bent forward to stretch the muscles along his spine while Tyler poked at a foil-covered baking dish on the counter.

"Lasagne," he whimpered, "and it's still warm."

"Don't anyone move," a gruff voice barked out. Jay spun around to see a gun emerging from the darkness of the room beyond.

xxx

After turning onto a one-way street a few blocks east of the Russian consulate, Will slowed Chambers' black sedan to a near crawl. His head swivelled left then right as he searched for a place to stop. He would have preferred a parking garage, but they were all private and gated. The legal parking places on the street were occupied, so he ended up pulling into the space in front of a fire hydrant. After turning off the engine, he leaned back in the seat and cradled his right hand to his side.

He'd been running on adrenaline bursts for too long and was losing momentum fast. Each high drained already strained resources and sent him plunging into a deeper low. With the adrenaline that had fueled him through Kim's rescue washing out of his system, his reserves were hitting empty.

Then there was his wound. It was bleeding again and aching fiercely; at the very least, he needed to change the bandage.

He retrieved his pack from the floor of the backseat, then angled his weary body out of the car. The nearest streetlight was far enough away that he stood in deep shadow. The overhanging branches of a small tree provided further cover as he walked to the rear of the car and cracked open the trunk. The trussed and gagged body of Chambers was inside.

Will shook the FBI agent's shoulder but got no response. He was still deeply unconscious from the blow delivered to his head. If Chambers had been awake, Will might have been tempted to drive to a secluded location where he could question him. But now, with his own body teetering on the brink of total exhaustion, time wasn't on his side. Chambers might be out for another hour, or even two. Will wasn't sure he could stay awake for that long, let alone remain alert enough to conduct an interrogation.

After one last, regretful look at Chambers Will closed the trunk and headed west toward Park Avenue. While most of his concentration was focused on keeping his feet moving in the right direction, hovering on the edge of his awareness was a sense of profound relief.

He'd found Kim, and she was safe.

He could face Jay and Tyler without giving them further reason to despise him. He told himself that shouldn't matter, but it did.

Kate had said that Jay and Tyler had become his friends. While he'd agreed, he wasn't sure he had enough experience with friendship to know what the concept actually meant. It was difficult to be a friend when moving from fake identity to fake identity.

_Eight years earlier..._

"_You are whom I say you are."_

"_But what's the matter with Jason McKenna?" the boy who would become Will Traveler asked._

"_He's served his purpose." Uncle Dave tapped the California driver's license on the table. "You are now Eric Ransom. Eric has been accepted to the chemical engineering program at UC Berkeley." He passed a paper across the table. "Here's your class schedule. You'll carry a heavier than normal number of credit hours, take summer classes, and graduate in three years. Is that a problem?"_

"_No." Academics were never a concern. But there were a couple of boys at the Academy... He usually had lunch with them and they'd worked together on group projects. Sometimes, they referred to him as their friend. "What about the people who know me as Jason?"_

"_You don't need to worry about that. You'll never see them again."_

After that, sensing that each new identity was a temporary one, he hadn't bothered to get involved with anyone. Until the Yale assignment. And then he'd only done it because it was part of the job: _Get close to them. Gain their confidence. Be their friend. _

Had he really become their friend? Or had he become so immersed in the part he couldn't delineate between reality and pretense?

xxx

Marlow's car rental included a ride home. While his salary was no doubt factored into what they'd charged her, she still tipped the driver. It was New York, after all.

Climbing the three flights of stairs to her apartment, she couldn't help but think about Borjes. He was too young, too good. It wasn't fair that he was dead and Whaley and Chambers were alive. Someday, somehow she was going to bring both of them to justice.

xxx

"Gabe!" Tyler rushed at the person emerging from the gloom. "Gabe." He wrapped his arms around his not-so-little _little_ brother and pounded him on the back. "It's great to see you." Emotion was welling in his throat and seeping into his voice. "How are you? How's Dad?"

"I'm fine. Dad is still critical, but he's stable. They should know more tomorrow." Gabe pushed Tyler back to where he could look into his face. "What's going on? Why are they blaming you for that bombing? And why the urgency to get security for Dad?"

"We were framed. The Drexler is part of a larger conspiracy. We think Dad was shot by the same people who framed us. We... we have to be careful." Tyler spun away, unable to meet Gabriel's eyes when he wasn't revealing the entire truth. But he couldn't tell him about their father, not yet, maybe not ever. And he found he couldn't admit that the person who had framed them was someone he'd considered to be one of his best friends. He knew it was irrational, but it almost felt as if he were the one at fault, to be the type of person who could be betrayed by both his father and his good friend.

Wanting to change the subject, Tyler grabbed Jay's arm and pulled him to where Gabe was standing. "This is Jay. Jay, meet my brother."

"Uh," Jay pointed to the gun that Gabe was still clutching. "Would you mind putting that down?"

"Sorry." Gabe set the gun on the counter and held out his hand. "It's crazy that we haven't met before. Tyler's told me so much about you, I feel like I know you. And Will, of course. Where is he? I thought the three of you were going on the ultimate road trip. The next thing I know, the two of you are all over the news."

Jay glanced at Tyler before answering. "Will's around. As for the road trip, it didn't turn out exactly as planned."

"What are we doing in the dark?" Tyler asked. He switched on the overhead light and headed for the lasagne pan. It was half empty, at least according to his present mood. Two weeks ago, he might have said it was half full. "I'm glad you left some for us. Get plates."

"Stay away from the windows," Jay warned.

"We're eleven stories up."

"He's right," Gabe said. "They might be watching the place with binoculars, or even a telescope. Help yourselves, then bring your plates into the den. Those curtains were closed when I got home and I haven't gotten around to opening them."

"Brenda does that. She said the sun was damaging the upholstery, making it fade or something. Where is Brenda?"

"She left after I ate. I insisted. Her sister is having dental surgery tomorrow and Brenda was scheduled to help with the kids."

Tyler brightened. "I knew we were meant to come here today. Everything is working out in our favor." He passed a plate of lasagne to Jay, then began to fill one for himself. "Gabe, Jay's girlfriend might be in trouble for helping us. We need you to get her legal counsel."

"If it isn't too much to ask," Jay added.

"I'll take care of it," Gabe said. "Let me grab a pen and paper. While you're eating, you can tell me everything I need to know."

xxx

Will was a little more than a block from their hotel when Chambers' phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and noted that the caller's ID was blocked. Flipping it open, he grunted an unintelligible, "Yes."

"Where have you been? I tried to call you earlier." Will recognized the voice. Otis Whaley. Their paths had crossed on a Hometown assignment down south. "When I couldn't reach you, I phoned Meiers and had him call off the FBI team at the penthouse. I was afraid we'd trip over each other."

Will put his hand over the phone and mumbled, "Okay."

"The Fog whelp seems to be home for the night, so I'm heading down to Canal to snoop around. I'll have Davenport and Benson keep watch here until your midnight shift shows up. Is there anything else?"

"No." Will cut the connection and put the phone away.

If Chambers knew Whaley, it made it more likely that he was involved with Hometown. While it was possible that Whaley was no longer undercover, Will didn't think it was likely. The man was a maverick, which made him a poor fit for a by-the-book operation.

No matter that he felt tired enough to sleep for a year, Will knew he had to go back to the car and hope that it and Chambers were still there. If there was even a chance that Chambers was connected to Hometown, he was too valuable a resource to simply abandon him.

Since he as so close to the hotel, Will decided to check in with Jay and Tyler and relieve their minds about Kim before going back for Chambers

xxx

Tyler set his empty plate on the side table and slumped lower in his chair. Sitting in his father's penthouse, his stomach purring after a delicious meal, he could almost talk himself into believing that the Drexler had been a dream. Almost...

"How long will you be here?" he asked his brother.

"Two weeks. If things aren't going well, I could try to get my leave extended, but that doesn't happen very often."

"It's probably just as well. I don't want you to get involved in this mess, except to help Kim."

"I'll contact the lawyer first thing in the morning," Gabe promised. "Are you sure you don't want me to call her parents? Maybe she's with them right now; and if she isn't, they'll know where she is."

Jay answered the question. "We're sure. If the FBI finds out you talked to us, they could arrest you. It's also best if no one knows who hired the lawyer, if you can work it that way. Tyler's right, you shouldn't get involved."

"But I still don't understand. You're innocent. Let me get you a lawyer. Let's get this straightened out."

"Oh, no." Tyler shook his head emphatically. "We tried that route. Dad hired someone; it didn't work out. This is more complicated than you realize."

"But I want to help." Gabe popped to his feet. "I know what I can do. I'll be right back."

"Do you think he'll keep quiet about seeing us?" Jay asked.

"Yeah. He's West Point and an Iraqi veteran. He's not going to go blabbing like some undisciplined kid."

Gabe returned with his hands full. "Here." He passed a thick wad of money to Tyler. "After you called I made a large withdrawal. I must take after mom. She always said cash in hand is the best security. You take it. I can get more tomorrow."

Tyler stood and hugged Gabe. "Thanks, little brother. I'll pay you back when this is over."

"And there's this." Gabe held out a five-by-seven-inch manila envelope. "Before I deployed, I put my cars in a climate-controlled storage facility in Harrison, just east of Newark. The keys to the facility, my individual units and the cars are inside. So's the address. If you need transport, take either one. Take both."

After standing to squeeze Gabe yet again, Tyler looked at Jay and smiled. "Didn't I tell you he was the best?"

xxx

Awakening to a crashing headache, it was emotional pain that made Chambers want to scream. "Jessie," he tried to call her name, but a bulky piece of material stuffed in his mouth muffled the cry.

He was hogtied, his body curled over itself so that his feet and hands were intertwined. He explored the best he could within the limitations of his bound hands and feet and confirmed what the smell had already suggested: he was in the trunk of a car. Probably his own car.

The last thing he remembered was a crushing blow to the head that had sent him reeling into darkness. How long ago had that been?

"Jessie," it was more a sob now.

Fuck Traveler. Fuck The Fourth Branch. The only thing he cared about was his daughter.

He'd given Traveler what he wanted, brought him to the building where Kim was being held. Assuming Traveler had found her unharmed, Jessie should be okay. Chambers had to believe that.

The branch had given him Traveler's dossier when he'd gone missing after the Drexler. Nothing in the file suggested a man who killed wantonly. Traveler had left Alex alive after she'd attacked him. Jessie hadn't done anything to Traveler; had never harmed anyone. Her only sin was that she was Chambers' daughter.

_Jessie._

Using every ounce of strength he could muster, Chambers wriggled around and began to kick the corner of the trunk where the right taillight was housed. If he could kick out the light, it would be easier to attract attention. But the space was too small to access with his feet bound together. All movement was awkward, and he had to settle for battering the inside of the trunk. In the confined space the sound was almost deafening. He welcomed the clatter, and could only hope that someone would hear him and respond.

xxx

Carrying his pack so it concealed the fresh blood on his shirt, Will walked through the hotel lobby with his baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. Several guests stood in front of the bank of elevators, waiting to be whisked to their floors. He continued past them for several yards and fiddled with a soda machine until they were gone. When an empty car arrived, he hopped on it and rode to the sixth floor. Then he ducked into the stairwell and went down the two flights to their floor.

Misdirection was automatic in his line of business. You never took a direct route, never used the same route twice, and kept to random patterns as much as possible.

He hoped he had been as careful on his trip from Chambers' car to the hotel. Much of the journey was an exhausted blur. He knew where he'd been and what he'd done–the bus ride south, breaking into the closed drugstore and stocking up on pharmaceuticals--but the details were sketchy, until Whaley's call had yanked him out of the haze.

Will swiped his key through the card reader and opened the door. The darkness and silence that greeted him put him on instant alert. Jay and Tyler wouldn't be asleep this early, not with Jay waiting for word on Kim.

Pulling Chambers' gun from his pack, he edged sideways into the room. He glided forward a few feet, paused and listened carefully, then began to move again. He repeated the pattern until he'd worked his way through both rooms and baths, checking closets, showers and anywhere else large enough to hide an intruder.

When he'd determined the suite was empty, Will secured the door, turned on the lights and did a second search. This time he looked for some clue that would point him to the missing men's whereabouts. There were no notes--so much for Jay's lecture earlier–nor any scribbles that shed light on their disappearance. Next he checked the cell phones he'd purchased. One was missing; the others didn't have any incoming texts or voice mails.

He tried to call the missing phone, but it went immediately to voice mail.

There was only one place else to look. Will checked the history files on both computers, but neither offered any enlightenment. Sinking onto the sofa, he put his head into hands and cursed silently.

They could be anywhere, following a lead, searching for Kim, checking on Carlton, attempting a meeting with Tyler's brother. Well, thanks to Whaley, he knew where Gabriel Fog was. He'd start there.

Rather than take time to redress his wound, he simply slapped a second padding of gauze over the old. It took less than a minute to change his T-shirt, top it with a dark Mets sweatshirt and position the baseball cap back on his head. Next, he dumped the containers of stolen pills onto the counter by the coffee maker, sorted through them until he found what he wanted, and downed an antibiotic and a stimulant. Finally, he armed himself--gun tucked into his jeans and knife strapped to his ankle–and left the hotel.

xxx

Fresh from a quick shower and wrapped in an oversized towel, Kim inspected her small room. The bed held a stack of clothes the consulate employees had cobbled together for her use; a pot of very strong tea rested on a tray on the dresser, and a stack of magazines and an envelope sat beside a lamp on the night stand. There were thirty one-hundred dollar bills in the envelope. They'd told her that Will had left it for her.

Everyone had been kind and solicitous. A woman with impeccable English had given her a short tour, pointing out which parts of the building were off limits, before showing her to her room. The clothes had been waiting there for her. Since they all appeared to be about her size, she presumed Will had requested them during his phone call. Her guide arranged for the tea and promised her that a proper meal would be along within the hour.

If circumstances were different, she would have been thrilled to stay in the consulate and to have an opportunity to explore another culture. But it was difficult to feel anything but dismay with Jay on the run and in danger.

xxx

With her hands resting on her hips, Jess Chambers turned from side to side while studying her reflection in the full-length mirror on her closet door. It appeared to be the same reflection that had stared back at her that morning, but her perception of the image had changed.

"Amy," she said, addressing her roommate and best friend, who as sprawled on her bed, reading a book, "I made an appalling discovery today." She paused, ashamed to say the words out loud. But since becoming fast friends during their freshman year she and Amy had promised to be nothing less than truthful with each other. "I'm vain."

Jess watched Amy's reaction in the mirror. Her roommate rolled over so quickly she almost fell off the bed. "You?" Swinging her feet to the floor, she sat up and looked at Jess with an expression that suggested she was waiting for the punch line. "You're serious."

"I can't believe it myself." Jess took a last glance in the mirror before turning away.

"Come on," Amy said. "Get real. Do you think I'd have the bad taste to room with someone who was stuck on herself?"

Jess couldn't help but giggle in reply. She raised her right hand and wagged her index finger at her roommate. "It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Damn right, and that's why you can't be vain. You put up with me."

"Well, then," Jess sat on her own bed, facing her roommate, "I don't know how to explain today."

"Just tell the story."

"I was late for a meeting, in a hurry, distracted, not watching where I was going, and I ran into this guy. Or he ran into me. I'm not sure. My bag flew off my shoulder and everything fell out. With a couple of tampons scattered about, I wanted to pick the stuff up myself, but he was too fast for me. That's when it happened." The memory brought a flood of warmth to Jess's cheeks.

"What happened?"

"He gave me the bag and left. He just left. He didn't try to hit on me or exchange names or anything. He. Just. Left." Jess squirmed with discomfort. She sounded like a whiny, jilted prom queen.

Amy's face screwed up and she began to laugh, softly at first, then harder. She pulled her pillow to her chest and laughed into it.

"This is not funny," Jess said, realizing at the same time that it wasn't the profound, character-defining moment that she'd feared, either. "Well, maybe it's a little funny. But why would that be the first thought that popped into my mind? That he left without so much as looking at me?"

Bringing herself under partial control, Amy's voice was warbling a little as she replied. "Because it's what you're used to. You're drop dead gorgeous. Strangers cross the street to declare undying love."

"That only happened once," Jess said, feeling worse and worse. She hoped Amy didn't think she was fishing for compliments. "And I've never wanted that kind of attention. Maybe I'll shave my head or--"

The door to her room burst open and a disheveled figure flew through the opening. "Jessie, Jessie, is that you?"

"Yes, Dad." Instinctively, she jumped to her feet and put her arms around the wild-eyed man in the rumpled suit. "Of course, it's me. What's the matter? You look like you were caught in a tornado."

"Jessica." He hugged her for at least a full minute before releasing her. "I've been so worried. I tried to call, you didn't answer, and this..." He dug into his inner pocket and pulled out a red wallet.

"My wallet." She grabbed it and began to thumb through it. "I didn't even realize it was missing. Credit card, student ID, drivers license, money. Everything seems to be here. How did you get it?"

Her father's respiration was slowly returning to normal. "That's a long story."

"You tried to call?" Jess reached into her pack and pulled out her phone. Immediately, she could see why it hadn't rung. The battery compartment was open and empty. Had it broken open when it spilled from her bag earlier? While her Dad studied the phone, she dumped the contents of her pack onto the bed, but there was no sign of the battery. "I guess I'll have to go to the Sprint store tomorrow."

"Mr. Chambers," Amy said, "Someone bumped into Jess earlier. Her bag upended during the collision. He appeared to pick up everything before he took off, but..."

"It was an accident," Jess said, uncomfortable with what Amy was implying. "And he was helpful. He didn't take anything. I would have noticed."

Amy shook her head. "I don't think so. Your Dad's an FBI agent. He has enemies. Isn't that right, Mr. Chambers?"

Instead of answering Amy's question, her Dad put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Honey, what did this man look like?"

"He..." Jess shook her head helplessly. "I don't know. He was wearing a baseball cap. I couldn't even tell you the color of his hair."

xxx

Will had never met Davenport or Benson, but he'd heard of them. They were two punks who worked out of New York. Hometown hired them when they needed extra bodies.

As he approached the Fog penthouse Will remembered his first and only visit to the building. Carlton Fog had been standing in front of the penthouse's private elevator when the doors had opened and Will had stepped out.

"_You're Traveler," Fog said in a voice laced with scorn. It was obvious that he'd made an instant evaluation of Will and found him wanting. _

_Will didn't care. He wasn't here to impress Fog. Sticking his hands in the pockets of his baggy hoody, he sauntered through the foyer."Nice place."_

"_Yes, yes, it is." Fog gestured him into a room with a spectacular view of Central Park and directed him to a chair. "You're here to talk about my son."_

"_Tyler," Will confirmed, in case there was any question about which son. He wasn't quite sure how Hometown had gotten Fog to cooperate in an investigation that partially centered on his son, but that wasn't his business. He was here for background information that would help him become friends with his future roommate. That was all._

_Fog eased into a high-backed, upholstered chair. "Tyler is undependable, weak, a Lothario."_

"_What are his interests?"_

"_Interests? He's a playboy. Parties, drinking sprees, women. I've had to bale him out of more scrapes than I care to remember."_

"_Does he like sports?" Hometown's written report had mentioned the Chicago Cubs._

"_He bets on them. We went skeet shootisng once when he was younger. He's lazy."_

_Will could tell that Carlton wasn't going to provide him with anything useful. He would just continue to vent on the inadequacies of his older son. Standing up, Will held out his hand. "Thank you for your time."_

"_That's all?"_

"_That's all." _

_Carlton followed him to the elevator. "I expected more," he said with a shake of his head._

_So did I, Will thought to himself as he entered the car. So did I. The trip had been a complete waste of time. And maybe that's why Fog had agreed to the interview; he was stringing Hometown along, pretending to cooperate but saying nothing, probably even deliberately misleading them in an attempt to protect his son._

Walking slowly along Fifth Avenue, Will now knew that hadn't been the case. Carlton had meant every derogatory word, and he'd willingly given up his son to the ugliness that was Hometown. It was a wonder that Tyler was the honest, generous, loyal person that he was; he didn't get any of that from his father.

As Will crossed the last intersecting street before the penthouse, he spotted a man lurking near an entrance to Central Park. He was leaning against the stone wall that bordered that part of the park. It had to be one of Whaley's men. There was no other reason for someone to be there, especially at this time of night. The other hired hand should be close by.

Will continued north for two more blocks before crossing to the west side of the street. By climbing onto one of the stone benches that were strung along the foot of the wall, he was able to grab onto the top of the wall and haul himself up and over it. He'd take out the two goons, then check the penthouse. Staying close to the wall, he doubled back to the south. When he was twenty feet from the entrance he'd noted earlier, he stopped and carefully surveyed his surroundings. The man he'd spotted hadn't moved, but there was still no sign of his associate. Perhaps he was on a coffee break. Or maybe he'd gone home. Will would just have to ask the one who was here.

Will crept forward until he was almost touching the man's back. After snaking an arm around hiss neck, Will pulled him backwards, behind the wall.

Freeing his gun, he pressed it to the man's temple. "Are you Davenport or Benson?"

"Huh?" the man squeaked out.

"Davenport or Benson?" Will repeated, tightening his choke hold.

"B-Benson."

"Where's Davenport?"

"C..c...car--" he screeched.

Sleeping in a parked car, Will decided. He nudged Benson forward until they were both standing in the entry way to the park. "Which car?"

"Don't move, Traveler." The speaker was somewhere behind Will and slightly to his left. "Don't force me to shoot you."

Will knew that voice. It was the tattoo artist, Ed Carter, the man who had directed him to Martin. Benson hadn't been saying _car,_ he'd been trying to call for _Carter_.

"Well, Ed, who's running your shop?"

"That's not your worry. Drop the gun," Davenport said. "They prefer you alive, but they'll take you dead."

Will let go of his gun, but kept hold of Benson. "I'll kill him," he said.

"You'd be doing me a favor. I wouldn't have to share the reward. They're offering a lot of money for your hide."

Levering his hip down, Will whipped his body to the left, intending to fling Benson into Davenport, or at least get Benson's body between them. But he'd only begun the move when something hard cracked against his skull.

He felt his body crumpling as his vision blurred in and out. By the time the world came back into focus, he found himself locked in Benson's vise-like grip. He would have fought, but Davenport had a gun jammed in his stomach.

"You just bought yourself a free tattoo," Davenport growled. He moved back several steps, then pulled a commando knife from a sheath attached to his belt. With a gun in his right hand and the blade in the other, he advanced on Will.

xxx

Shoulder to shoulder, Jay and Tyler pushed the trash bin back into place while Gabe kept watch in the hallway. "I like your brother," Jay said.

"I knew you would."

"That should do it." Jay rolled his shoulders as he straightened up. He was going to be sore in the morning. "Let's get out of here."

"Here's your jacket." Tyler grabbed up his own jacket and the pack they'd left in the basement.

Gabe led them to the door to the underground garage. "Wait here until I bring the car around, then get in as quickly as possible. I'll fuss with the lights, so it looks like that's why I stopped."

"The boy's smart," Tyler said after Gabe left.

"I hope he's smart enough to stay out of our problems." Gabriel had pleaded with them, again and again, to let him help.

"I'm more worried that Dad might hurt him. Should I warn Gabe about him?"

"Your Dad's not in a position to hurt anyone right now," Jay said. "Gabriel will be fine." He didn't add that Carleton Fog wasn't likely to sacrifice both of his sons. He needed one of them to carry on the family business. Gabe was apparently his heir designate.

"Here's the car."

After the Mercedes eased to a stop, Gabe began to run the lights through their various settings, giving Jay and Tyler plenty of time to slip into the backseat and drop to the floor. "Where to?" Gabe asked as he put the car back in gear.

Jay thought a moment before answering. "South for a few blocks, then look for a quiet spot where you can drop us off."

"I thought he could take us to--"

"No," Jay cut in. Life on the run had taught him to be cautious. "The less he knows, the safer it is for him, and for us."

xxx

Keeping his eye on the knife, Will kicked his left foot backward into Benson's knee. Benson grunted , but there was no weakening of his hold as Davenport's knife sliced through the air. Will waited until the last second then jerked his head to the left. The knife whistled by almost close enough to give him a shave. He didn't think he'd be that lucky a second time.

Letting Benson take all of his weight, Will lifted both legs off the ground and kicked out at Davenport. But the large man danced back out of reach, while Benson reacted by slamming a knee into Will's lower back.

"Oooh, you almost got me," Davenport said with mocking derision. He transferred his gun to his left hand and the knife to his right. "Too bad Hometown didn't show me your picture before you stopped by my shop the other night. I could have done a fancy design there. Maybe spelled out _rogue_ or _traitor._" He walked slowly forward. "It's best if you don't move. You wouldn't want this knife to do more damage than intended."

"I'll keep him still." Benson tightened his hold until Will thought his ribs were going to crack. "Your girlfriend was tougher than you are."

"Maya! What do you know about Maya?"

"He was there," Davenport answered, "with Martin. I'm sorry I missed--"

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Davenport yelped in pain and dropped to the ground. A second bullet kicked up dirt near where he landed, sending Davenport rolling to his right, as a voice called, "Traveler, get down."

Will lashed out with every body part that could move, but Benson was like a two-ton gorilla attached to him. As Will twisted left and right, intertwined hands dug into his already throbbing abdomen. _Pain doesn't kill_, Will reminded himself. Grimacing, he yanked his body to the left, putting more pressure on the bullet wound but also creating a space that allowed him to wiggle his right arm free. He reached up and back, found Benson's face, stretched his fingers higher and dug them into his opponent's eye.

xxx

Crouched low in the backseat, Tyler felt the car slow down, followed by a jostling, as it eased over what he knew to be the speed bump at the opening to the garage. As Gabe swung the car left onto Fifth Avenue, Tyler heard a loud crack, a sound that had become all too familiar during the past week: gunfire.

Worried about his brother, Tyler darted his head up as Gabe hit the brakes.

"There's something going on near the entrance to the park," Gabe called. "I'm turning around."

"Wait. No. Go forward," Tyler shouted. "It's Will." He sensed Jay popping up beside him, but kept his eyes trained on the tangled figures near the stone wall. Will was locked in the arms of a much larger man. Just to their left, another man was stretched on the ground, firing a gun into the park. As Tyler watched, the man with the gun hefted himself into a half crouch, darted into the dark shadows and disappeared.

Tyler jumped out of the car before it came to a full stop. He could sense that Jay was close behind him as he raced over to Will. Before they got there, Will flipped his assailant to the side. The man staggered before regaining his balance. His face was half covered with blood that was streaming from his right eye.

_Oh my god, his eye! _Lasagne erupted into Tyler's throat. The man's eye appeared to be loose in the socket. As Tyler directed his gaze downward, away from the gruesome image, he saw the man's hand dart into his jacket and pull out a gun.

"Will!" Tyler flung himself forward and tackled Will to the ground.

They'd barely hit the asphalt when Will's elbow shot back and slammed into Tyler's cheek. "Let go of me," he shouted. Reeling, Tyler just managed to hang onto the fabric of Will's sweatshirt. With bullets whistling through the air, he thought they were both exactly where they should be. As Will continued to try to twist out of Tyler's grip, Jay slid in beside them. He'd gotten a gun from somewhere and was firing it with grim determination. Abruptly, Will's attacker turned tail and ran. A moment later Will jerked free. But by the time he got to his feet, both Jay and Gabe were there, and they began to herd him toward the car.

"Don't be stupid," Tyler heard Jay say. "He's long gone."

Finding himself alone, Tyler leaned to the side and retched.

Tyler thought he heard more gunfire, from somewhere deep in the park, but he was too caught up in his own misery to be sure. Then hands gripped his right shoulder and arm, holding him steady until his stomach was empty. "Tyler," Jay said, gently tugging him to his feet, "we've got to get out of here." A second later Gabe was there as well, wiping Tyler's chin with a cloth and supporting him on the other side.

As he climbed into the car Tyler saw that Will was already inside, huddled in the far corner of the back seat. His eyes were closed, and his face was a ghastly white that Tyler had never seen outside of zombie movies. Will was clutching a gun in one hand; his other hand pressed the jacket Gabe had been wearing to the side of his head. The edge of the balled jacket was crimson with blood.

As Jay scooted in after him, Tyler asked, "Will, what's going on? Why are you here?"

Will's only reply was a curt "You let him get away."

Tyler resisted an urge to grab Will's shoulders and shake sense into him. "Since he was shooting at us, that would seem to be a good thing."

Returning to the driver's seat, Gabe asked, "Is there any reason for us to stick around?"

"No," Jay and Tyler said in unison.

"Good, because I've had enough of war zones."

Will's eyes cracked open. "What does he know?"

"_He_ happens to be my brother, and he doesn't know much, just that we're in trouble and I don't want him to get involved. Rather than refer to him in the third person–which was always considered to be rude in my circle--let me introduce you. Will, meet my kid brother Gabriel." Rubbing his hand over his sore cheek, he looked at Will with exasperation before continuing, "Gabe, this is my _friend _Will."

Jay leaned forward and twisted around so he was facing both Tyler and Will. "We told Gabe to drop us in a quiet neighborhood. He doesn't know anything except for Kim. He's going to hire a lawyer to represent her."

"That's not necessary," Will said. "Kim's fine; she doesn't need a lawyer. I'll tell you about it later." His eyes shuttered closed again and he slumped even lower in the seat.""Wake me when it's time to get out." And just like that, he fell asleep.

xxx

Standing on the sidewalk outside his daughter's dorm, Chambers ran a weary hand through his hair. The car he'd called for should have arrived by now, but he wasn't sorry it was late. The cool air was refreshing after the heated scene in Jessie's room.

Amy's insightful assessment had reminded Jessica that his job put him in contact with dangerous individuals. As expected, Jessie wasn't worried about herself, but she'd been frantic with worry over him, barraging him with questions in the manner of a Spanish inquisitor and not letting up until he'd answered all of them. He'd told the truth as much as possible and lied the rest of time. He'd admitted that the wallet had been used to threaten him, but hadn't told her that he'd been taken prisoner and locked in his own trunk. Nor had he shared his fear that Traveler had kidnaped her. He hadn't mentioned Will Traveler at all, or Kim Doherty, or even the Drexler, referencing national security issues as the reason he couldn't share any details.

He'd have to be careful to remember what he'd told her, so he wouldn't contradict his story at some future time. He didn't want to tarnish Jessie's image of him; she saw him as a knight in shining armor, righting wrongs and protecting the innocent. He liked to think that was what he did, but he knew that his methods wouldn't always pass the test of chivalry.

This late at night traffic was light, so when he spotted a dark car headed his way he stepped closer to the curb. The car pulled up next to him and Ron Farrell popped out of the driver's seat.

"You brought me a new phone?"

Farrell pulled one from his pocket and handed it over. "I had to fill out half a dozen forms before they'd give it to me. That's why I'm late. There are additional papers that you'll need to sign back at the office."

"I'll take care of it." Chambers opened the door to the rear seat. "I'll ride back here. Close the partition when you get in."

With the plexiglass partition assuring his privacy, Chambers placed a call to Whaley. He wanted Traveler more badly than ever, and Whaley was his best chance to find him.

Whaley had barely answered before he began his own tale of woe. "Traveler turned up outside the Fog place. Benson and Davenport had him, but someone showed up and began to shoot at them. Not only did they lose Traveler, they barely managed to escape. Davenport was grazed by a bullet, while Traveler did some serious damage to Benson's eye."

"Where were you while that was going down?"

"I was checking out the area around Canal. I called and told you I was going there. Remember?"

"You didn't tell _me_! I had my own run in with Traveler. He has my phone."

There was a brief silence, then, "That's how he knew about Benson and Davenport. I mentioned that I was leaving them to watch the penthouse."

"This is getting better and better. Why don't we run all of our plans by Traveler. Maybe he can tell us how we can catch him." Chambers clenched his free hand into a fist. "I have to go back to the office, but I want you and Davenport cruising the East Side. Now!"

xxx

With the plush interior of the Mercedes pampering his sore back, Jay let himself relax while Tyler used a mix of hand signals and whispers to tell Gabriel where to go. After directing him onto a side street lined with apartment buildings that had been refurbished and turned into luxury condominium complexes, Tyler gestured for him to pull into the no parking zone that abutted an intersection. Still using his hands to communicate, Tyler pointed to Will, put his fingers to his lips, and waved them out of the car. Instinctively, they all gravitated to the shadows along the side of a building.

Wind was whipping in from the East River, making the night seem even colder than it was. Dressed in only a short-sleeved shirt, Gabriel stomped his feet up and down to keep warm. "I found this as I was getting out." He passed a bottle of water to his brother. "A guy the size of your friend can't normally fling a two-hundred pound bruiser around. Where did Will pick up that trick?"

Tyler rinsed out his mouth before answering. "He's had training. It's not safe for you to know more. You've already put yourself at risk. If the men in the park saw you..."

"I don't think they did," Jay said. "The one never looked our way. The other man took off before Gabriel was anywhere near us. What worries me is what we didn't see. Who chased that first guy off? Someone was shooting at him when we got there."

Tyler shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe Will knows. We better wake him." He returned to the Mercedes, reached in, and shook Will's shoulder. "We're here."

Will climbed out of the car like someone stuck in low gear. Jay watched him as he touched his hand to the area behind his right ear, then pulled it back and studied his stained fingers.

"I think it stopped bleeding," Gabe said. "Do you want me to check?"

"No, it's fine. We have to get moving. They're going to be looking for us."

"What about Gabe?" Tyler asked. "Is it safe for him to go back to the penthouse? Those people in the park, who were they?"

"Not the FBI," Will said. "You shouldn't have gotten your brother involved." He turned to face Gabriel. "You'll need to hire more security. Don't go anywhere alone."

Gabe bristled slightly. "I can take care of myself."

"Military prep school, West Point, ranger training, Iraq." Will ticked off the items as easily as if he was reading from a printed resume. "You think you're ready for anything." On the last word, he swept out his right leg, curled it around Gabriel's left and shifted it so that Gabe had to lurch to keep his balance. "You're not."

"That's not fair. I wasn't expecting an attack."

"The people I'm talking about don't give warnings, either. They could be any man or woman you might walk past going in or out of the hospital."

Tyler reached out and touched Gabe's arm. "Do what he says, please, for me."

"Okay, okay." Gabriel enveloped Tyler in a hug. "Call me," he said. "If you need anything, please call me."

Tyler's reply was judicious. "I know I can count on you." He stood with his hand in the air as Gabriel drove away.

"Let's go," Will said. He marched off toward the corner. Tyler called him back.

"The hotel is this way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction. There was no rancor in his voice, just a sense of weary resignation, as he continued, "You know, Will, you can be real jerk. You didn't have to humiliate Gabe. He was in Iraq, battling insurgents, while you were involved in your espionage gig that pitted you against the likes of Jay and me."

"It was the quickest way to make a point."

It wasn't an apology, but at least Will had explained why he'd tripped Gabriel. Jay hoped it was something they could build on. They had to stop fighting, had to start to work together. With that in mind Jay was careful to keep impatience out of his voice as he said, "You were going to tell me about Kim."

"Kim, yes," Will said in a surprised tone that suggested he'd forgotten about her. "I told her you'd call." He reached into his pocket for a phone.

Jay had taken two years of Russian at UCLA, so he immediately recognized the language when Will began to speak. But the words spilled out too quickly for him to translate. After three exchanges with the person on the other end, Will handed the phone to Jay. "It will take a few minutes to get the phone to her."

xxx

Kim sat in the room's only chair–a narrow, padded rocker–and studied the array of food on the small, folding table that had been delivered at the same time as the meal. There was a reddish soup that she thought, at first, was borscht, the famous Russian beet soup. But a quick taste told her it was cabbage in a tomato based broth that was both sweet and sour. There was also a souffle that appeared to be lighter and fluffier than the one her mother made, and a hunk of dark bread.

As wonderful as everything looked and smelled, Kim couldn't summon any desire to eat. But not wanting to offend her hosts, who were doing their best to make her comfortable, she knew she had to try. She started with small sips of soup.

The level of soup hadn't appeared to drop when there was a short knock on her door. "Come in," she called.

A man entered, and handed her a portable phone. "For you," he said in a heavily accented voice.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Kim was bursting with anticipation as she put the phone to her ear and pressed _talk_. "Hello."

"Kim." The single word conveyed all the relief and love that Kim herself was feeling.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Now that I've heard your voice, yes. Where are you?"

"Will didn't tell you? I'm at the Russian consulate. He brought me here. He said I'd be safe; he said they owed him a favor. Can we trust him?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Did he explain anything about the Drexler or those passports?"

"Not much. I miss you."

"And I miss you." Kim pressed her lips to the phone. "I hope we won't be apart for long."

"Same here. What about your family? Do they know where you are?"

"Tell her to write them a note to let them know she's okay," Will said loud enough that Kim heard him. "No one can touch her there, but it's best if no one knows where she is."

"Did you hear that?" Jay asked.

"Yes."

"Will's signaling that I need to go. I'll be in touch when I can."

"I love you," Kim said.

"Me, too."

Kim clutched the phone to her chest before setting it aside. Talking with Jay was the emotional equivalent of a hot air balloon ride. She felt as high as the clouds and lighter than air. When she resumed eating, she found her appetite had returned. The soup couldn't have tasted better if it had been lobster bisque.

xxx

"Kim is at the Russian consulate," Will said in response to the questioning look on Tyler's face. "I worked with them during one of my Hometown assignments. She's safe there, but we should keep contact to a minimum. Jay?"

"I don't suppose I have a choice," Jay answered. "Where did you find her? At her parents' home?"

"No, the FBI was holding her," Will said, though he now believed that Hometown was the culprit. But the FBI was the simplest answer, and the one least likely to prompt more questions.

"And the incident at the park?" Tyler asked.

"I was looking for you and ran into men who were looking for us. Thanks for leaving a note." Even under the dim street lighting, Will could see that Jay's cheeks were coloring in response to his barb.

"Sorry about that," Jay said. "We were in a hurry."

"And it's not as if you weren't gone longer than we expected," Tyler added.

"I didn't want to call until I had Kim in a safe place. I didn't want you to worry."

"That was wrong," Jay said. "We're in this together. We need to be open and truthful, even when the truth might be upsetting."

"I'll work on it," Will said, another lie, but one that would hopefully end the conversation. Even the slightest whisper sent a high, mad whine pulsing through his head, the result of the collision between his skull and Davenport's gun.

_Gun_... The word connected to something that had been nagging at him, something to do with the fight in the park. It frustrated him that he could feel a glimmer of knowledge swimming on the edge of his awareness, but he couldn't pull it in. The more he tried to concentrate, the further away it drifted.

"We're here," Jay announced. "But, Will, there's blood on the back of your head and down your neck. I don't think you want anyone to see that."

"We'll go in the back."

"We are at the back." Tyler's voice had a worried edge to it. "That doesn't mean we won't run into someone who might find your appearance a bit ghoulish." He took hold of Will's chin, tilted it up, displayed his right hand and asked, "How many fingers?"

"Three." Will backpedaled away from Tyler's touch. "My mind was elsewhere. Jay, you're wearing a hoody. We'll switch." He sensed it was important to reassure them that he wasn't concussed, so he summoned a grin and a wink. "I promise that this Mets sweatshirt won't scar you for life, though it might sting a bit on contact."

"There are sacred topics that one shouldn't joke about," Tyler declared, "especially not today. I saw on the internet that the Cubs actually won one."

Shrugging out of his hoody, Jay asked, "Who'd they play?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Pittsburgh! I don't know if that counts as a win. The Yale women's softball team is better than the Pirates. Remember, last spring..."

Their voices faded away as Will trailed after them through the hotel's service area and up the stairs to their floor. By the time they reached the room, all of his systems were flashing red warning lights. He tumbled onto the sofa and fell asleep.

xxx

Jon Anselmo removed the high-quality earphones he'd been wearing and set them aside. He'd been eavesdropping since he'd returned to his room. He'd heard the shower, the briefest murmur of voices, then quiet. It was enough to tell him that Traveler and his friends had bedded down for the night. He planned to do the same himself very soon. But first he needed to make a phone call to the very rich Colorado real estate magnate who had hired him.

"Conrad," he said, remembering, for a change, to follow the man's wishes to use his first name instead of the _sir_ that came more naturally to his lips.

"Jon. I wasn't expecting to hear from you this evening. I take it something has happened."

"Traveler went hunting and almost ended up the prey. I had to intervene."

"Was Traveler hurt?"

It wasn't the first question Jon had expected to hear, and he filed that away for future consideration. "A blow to the head, but it didn't seem to be serious. He was on his feet and gouging the hell out of someone while I chased off a second man."

"And the second man?"

"He got away. Once I was sure I had him on the run, I thought it more important to get back to Traveler in case he needed help, but he was gone by the time I returned. Burchell and Fog had shown up, along with Fog's brother; they had Carlton's Mercedes."

"You did exactly the right thing. We need Traveler alive."

"Yes, sir, you've mentioned that. He'll have recognized my voice and know that I helped him. Maybe that will make him more amenable to an alliance. I might try to approach him, if I can do it in a way that won't alert him to the tracer."

"What about tonight?" Conrad asked.

"It shouldn't have raised any suspicion. He didn't have my gun; that's not how I knew where they were. I overheard Burchell and Fog plan a trip to the penthouse. I was feeling a little restless, so I took a walk that way myself. Traveler will probably assume I was staking out the Fog place. It would be a plausible move for someone trying to find him."

"Good. Is there anything else,?"

"Maybe one thing. Traveler got in trouble because he didn't account for the second man. I don't expect him to be sloppy or careless. Maybe I'll overhear something tomorrow to explain his lapse."

There was a long pause before Conrad said, "All right. But Jon, I want you to call me immediately if you get that information. If you can't reach me at this number, call my cell."

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

Anselmo closed his phone and leaned back in the bed. Had he detected something personal in Conrad's obsession with Traveler? He'd wondered about that before, and his instincts were usually correct. Was Conrad involved in a vendetta? Was he so determined to capture him alive to exact private revenge for some wrong? If that was the case, it was something Anselmo could understand. He'd gone to work for Conrad for the very same reason. It gave him his best chance to pay back those who were responsible for the deaths of five of his Black Ops team in Pakistan.

Maybe he and Conrad were more alike than he realized. Anselmo allowed that thought to simmer as he turned out the light and slipped under the covers.

end of Episode 3


	4. Chapter 4

Tyler's grandmother's house, which is introduced in this episode, exists only in my imagination. It and its location are amalgams of waterfront houses and environments that I've been privileged to visit.

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

EPISODE 4: THE ROADBLOCK

_For every failure, there's an alternative course of action. You just have to find it. When you come to a roadblock, find a detour. _

Mary Kay Ash

Pain gnawing at his side woke Will before his body would have chosen to abandon sleep. He shifted from his stomach to his back, hoping that a change in position would ease the discomfort.

Groggy and sore, the words of his military drill instructor flickered through his mind: _If you aren't hurting and tired, you're doing something wrong. _By his standards, Will hadn't felt this _right_ in a long time.

And he had no one to blame but himself for part of it. He should have patted down the FBI agent and the policeman in the alley behind Club Fervor. Uncle David would have hung him by his ears for such a rudimentary mistake.

Life at Yale had dulled his combat senses. He'd become immersed in a world that was far removed from war, fighting, and conflict. Even his training time had been restricted. Every absence had to be explained to Jay and Tyler. During the two years he'd spent in New Haven, he'd managed just two one-week sessions at Hometown's private training facility, telling his roommates he was visiting a cousin the first time and an old girlfriend the second. Other than that, he'd been on his own, exercising as much as his grad student image would permit and sneaking off to a shooting range for a couple of hours each week.

He was lucky that Jay and Tyler had enjoyed physical activities, from jogging to roller blade hockey to skiing and everything in between. If his assignment had matched him with two couch potatoes, he could have ended up severely out of shape. The bullet wound was hindrance enough.

A bullet wound that was still throbbing...

Which meant he'd have to move, because the pain meds weren't going to hop over to the sofa and jump in his mouth. As he hefted his reluctant body to its feet, he found himself shivering. Reaching down, he snagged the blanket that had been covering him and draped it over his shoulders before shuffling across the room.

The bottles of pills were scattered on the counter where he'd left them. He tipped out two pain pills and added another dose of antibiotics. It was early for the latter, but he didn't want to have to drag himself up again in a couple of hours. After washing the pills down with half a glass of water, he returned to the sofa.

His body sank into the softness of the cushions, his arm circling the pillow and pulling it under his head. As he wiggled about to get comfortable, he could feel something digging into the small of his back. Reaching around, he freed the gun that had been tucked in his jeans. He dropped it lazily to the floor while his eyes blinked shut. Maybe because his stomach was empty it didn't take long for the meds to layer a soothing balm over jagged nerve endings. As he drifted off, an image danced in his fading consciousness: a gun.

xxx

Chambers put his hands on his hips and glared at Whaley and Davenport. Two hours of cruising the streets in search of Traveler had done nothing to improve his foul mood. Once again, they'd come up just short of snaring their prey.

"Well, gentlemen, what do you suggest we do now?"

Rather than cowering, Whaley exposed his teeth in the manner of a predatory shark. "We need to draw them into the open."

"That's brilliant. How do you propose we do that?"

"Bait. Someone or something they want."

"When you come up with that person or thing, let me know. Davenport, you're on the payroll full time until this is over. I'll secure additional manpower in the morning."

Chambers dismissed them with a sweep of his hand. He still had to talk to Rosalind, but calling her at this time of night was nothing short of suicidal. That would also have to wait until morning. In the meantime, he needed to prepare a report for the Bureau. He could do that on his laptop outside of Jessie's dorm as easily as anywhere.

He badly wanted to send her to his sister's place in Oregon, but knew she'd never agree. Maybe she would move back home, at least temporarily, if he could get her to believe that he needed her there. Though given the fact that he'd hardly been home since the Drexler exploded, maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

The best way to keep Jessie safe was to eliminate Traveler. Which brought him back to square one.

Finding Traveler, Burchell and Fog would solve so many problems.

xxx

"_Where were you, Will?" Maya asked in a sad, mournful voice. Her normally vibrant eyes were dulled to a wan blue that held only the faintest hint of color. "You promised you'd come back. You promised."_

_Any reply would be meaningless. He'd failed her, pure and simple. He'd been wrong to believe she was safe; stupid to assume that Hometown didn't know about their relationship. With his tongue still too tied in guilt-ridden knots to speak, she began to float away. Or maybe he was sinking. Whatever was happening, it was drawing them apart. He sensed that she was going to a better place, while he... _

_It was hot and growing hotter. He lashed out as if the fiery pit was an enemy he could defeat with brute force. _

Kicking away the blanket that was twisted about his legs, Will broke free of the dream with a gasp. He stood up and found his feet tangled in the folds of blanket that now rested on the floor. After shaking free of its devilish grip, he strode to the bathroom, ripping off Jay's hoody on the way.

He turned the cold water on full force and let it run for ten seconds before filling his cupped hands and splashing it over his face. Only then did he look in the mirror. The crusted blood he'd expected to find wasn't there. He gently explored behind his ear and found a tender lump covered with a bandage. Someone had washed away most of the blood–head wounds always bled fiercely--and patched the small cut.

And removed his shoes, covered him with a blanket and tucked a pillow under his head, he realized as he recalled his quick collapse.

Returning to the outer room, Will felt unsettled. He'd slept solidly in the car, not waking when Jay, Tyler and Gabriel had gotten out, and he'd slept through whatever first aid Jay or Tyler had administered. While he'd trained himself to be able to sleep through a nuclear explosion, he only allowed deep slumber when he felt safe and secure. Their current set of circumstances was more on the order of precarious.

He was growing careless, losing his edge. Look at where he'd left the gun, on the floor by the sofa. Jay had used it to chase Davenport-Carter; it should have been cleaned immediately. Maybe that's what had been eluding him, why something about a gun kept haunting him.

As he broke down the gun and proceeded to clean it, he methodically backtracked through the encounter near the penthouse. When he got to the voice telling him to _get down_, the elusive ghost finally began to take form.

At the park he'd recognized the voice. It was the hotel porter, and he had to be the one who had wounded Davenport. It was a hell of a shot, hitting Davenport on the first try, with a handgun, at night, over some distance and quite likely at a bad angle. In Deer Harbor the Porter had made another crack shot, contacting Will's ankle while Will had been running away from him.

The man wasn't just good, he was very good.

Will dropped to the floor by his pack and searched through it until he found the Porter's gun, the one Will had taken from him the night the limo exploded. He examined it carefully and was left with a curious uncertainty. Why was the Porter, an obvious expert with a handgun, packing such an ordinary weapon? It wasn't that the Sig Sauer was a bad gun–it was better than the black market ripoffs Will had purchased from Jimmy--it just wasn't the match grade weapon that a top notch marksman would be expected to carry.

Granted, match grade guns weren't cheap. But neither were tracers.

_Tracer_! A laser site had been added to the Porter's gun, the kind that came with a rubber grip.

Even before he removed the grip Will knew what he'd find. And there it was, a thin disk that matched the one from Tyler's watch.

Hindsight made everything clear as crystal. The Porter had followed them with minimal stealth; he'd allowed Will to overpower him, then he'd given up the gun, which had been chosen and altered with the intent of delivering it into Will's hands. It had been a setup from the start, a rather dangerous one since Will might have killed him. But a risk that Will, himself, might have taken.

Will glanced at his watch. It was half past four. That didn't give him much time, but with the help of another stimulant it should be enough.

xxx

At the first ring of the phone Gabriel Fog came instantly awake. A quick glance at the luminous numbers on the bedside clock set his heart to racing. It was much too early for the call to be anything other than an emergency.

Primed for bad news, Gabe wasn't surprised to hear the female voice say, "Mr. Fog, there's been a change in your father's condition. We think you should get here as soon as possible."

Switching on the lamp with one hand, Gabe pressed the quick dial for the desk in the lobby with the other. The attendant on duty answered on the second ring. "Get me a cab," Gabe said. "I need one as quickly as possible."

Five minutes later he was riding the elevator to the lobby. As he stepped out he was surprised to find a man in a suit and tie walking up to meet him. "I understand that you saw your brother last night," he said.

"How did...?"

"You just told me." The man flipped open a wallet, displaying an FBI badge. "Fred Chambers," he introduced himself. "I'm in charge of the Drexler case."

"Look, I'm in a hurry. My father--" Gabe cut himself off. _This isn't a coincidence. _"That call wasn't from the hospital; it was one of your people. I won't say anything without a lawyer present."

"I could arrest you," Chambers said, "for aiding and abetting a wanted terrorist. Given that you're a war hero, I really don't want to do that, Mr. Fog. I know you've only recently returned to this country, so you aren't fully briefed on the situation. I've also heard that you're a young man of good character, someone who would find it difficult to turn in his own brother. So I might overlook your failure to notify us, if you cooperate with me now. I just want to talk."

Gabe bit on the inside of his lip. He hated to be outmaneuvered; his first inclination was to place a call to the family lawyer and drag this out until Chambers was old and gray. On the other hand, maybe Chambers would be more receptive if he didn't pull out the legal guns. "All right, I'll talk to you, because you need to hear what I have to say: my brother is innocent."

xxx

Will lowered himself onto Jay's bed without disturbing so much as the air hovering above it. With perfectly coordinated symmetry he braced his left hand against Jay's shoulder while clamping his right hand over the sleeping man's mouth. Jay came awake with a start, his eyes wide with fright, his arms lashing out. Seeing it was Will, he calmed almost immediately.

Will removed his hands and signaled that Jay should be quiet. He waved to tell him to stay where he was, then went to the other bed to repeat the procedure with Tyler. Tyler was slower to come awake and slower yet to recognize that Will wasn't trying to hurt or smother him. He bucked in a way that forced Will to lean into him to minimize the rustling of bed springs. He hoped he wasn't hurting him. He'd already done enough damage the night before, as evidenced by the purple hues and swollen tissue below Tyler's right eye.

When he had their attention, Will pointed to where he'd set out their clothes and wagged his head yes. Then he pointed to the bathroom and shook his head no. Finally, he picked up Jay's shoes and indicated that he wanted them to carry their shoes rather than put them on.

They understood that he meant for them to be as quiet as possible and acted accordingly. When they joined him in the outer room, Will gestured for them to go into the hall and wait. He hadn't trusted either of them with the backpacks–they were too likely to bump against something--so he gathered up the packs himself and crept out the door. After closing it silently behind him, he brushed his fingers over his lips then headed for the staircase at the far side of the building.

He hadn't wanted to go through the lobby, or the service area that would be bustling at this time of the morning, so he'd made a trip downstairs earlier and disengaged the alarm on the fire door at the bottom of the stairs. The alley beyond the door was clear. Once they were outside, he set down the bags and slipped on his shoes, nodding for Jay and Tyler to do the same.

"What's going on?" Tyler mouthed.

"I'll tell you later," Will whispered.

Two blocks past the hotel, Will knew silence was no longer necessary. Actually, it had probably been safe to talk as soon as they were in the stairwell, but he thought it better to teach Jay and Tyler to be overly cautious. "In here," he said, gesturing them into a narrow walkway between two apartment buildings.

"We have to leave the city. We'll take public transport to La Guardia and steal a car from the long-term lot." As he talked, Will reached into the pack slung over his left shoulder and pulled out the bag he'd put together while the others were getting dressed. "We need to hurry, to take advantage of rush hour crowds." He gave Jay an Australian bush hat, wire-rimmed glasses and fake teeth to slip over his upper ones. They pushed his lip out and widened the appearance of his mouth. With Tyler's face already distorted with bruises, Will decided a baseball cap, a teensy bit of chin hair and a thick sweatshirt to make him appear heavier would complete his make over.

Adjusting the cap on his head, Tyler said, "We don't have to steal a car. We can take one of Gabe's."

Which explained the keys and papers Will had found in the envelope stuffed in Tyler's pocket. He thought about it for a minute, weighing relative risks. "Where's Harrison?"

"Just this side of Newark. We can catch a PATH train at Herald Square, then transfer to the Harrison line at a couple of different places."

"How did a rich kid like you learn the subway system?"

"It's the quickest way to get around New York unless you have a helicopter. How did you know the cars were in Harrison?"

"I saw the envelope when I was searching your clothes."

Tyler clenched his hands into fists and glowered. "It's nice to know you trust us."

"I'll explain later."

"No," Jay said. "We're tired of later. Explain now."

"It's safest if we travel while rush hour crowds provide cover."

"Then explain quickly," Tyler said.

"I was looking for more tracers. There was one in the gun that I took from that Porter guy. I realized it in the middle of the night. I've spent most of the last two hours going through our belongings. Since he knew where we were, he might have planted others."

"Did you find any?" Jay asked.

"No."

"Now that didn't take long, did it?" Tyler reached for the blue pack. "Let me carry that."

"And I'll take the green," Jay added. "It's not that we don't trust you. We just feel better when you don't have possession of all our resources."

xxx

"Are you sure I can't get you some coffee?" Gabriel Fog asked. Dressed in faded jeans and a simple black pullover he looked out of place against the backdrop of Carlton's elegant penthouse.

"No." Chambers glanced at his watch. "I'm in a bit of a hurry. I have a funeral to attend this morning. One of my men was killed while chasing a Drexler suspect."

Shock spilled over Fog's face. "My brother?"

"Not this time. What was your brother doing here?"

"He was worried about our dad. He only knew what he'd heard on the news."

"So worried that he'd risk his life?"

"Tyler cares about people. He's not a killer and he's not a terrorist. He'd no more plant a bomb than he'd cut off a little old lady's fingers."

"I'll keep that in mind if I come across any geriatric severed finger crimes." Chambers tapped his foot against the thick carpet. Carlton certainly had an easy life. "Who was with your brother?'

Gabriel hesitated before answering, "His friend Jay."

"Anyone else?"

"Not here. Another friend, Will Traveler, was outside."

"It took three of them to check on your father's health?"

"I don't know. I was happy to see my brother. Who is innocent, by the way. I didn't think to interrogate him."

"There were reports of gunfire in the neighborhood around eleven last night. What can you tell me about that?"

"Well," Gabriel dragged out the word in the manner of someone stalling for time, "obviously, your people weren't involved or you wouldn't be asking me."

"That's right."

"Then maybe you can tell me who else might be motivated to shoot at my brother and his friends."

"I have no idea."

"That's what happened last night," Gabriel stood up and pointed out the window, "right over there. There were at least two of them, and they both had large caliber handguns. Someone set up my brother to take the fall for the Drexler, and now they're trying to kill him to cover their tracks."

"That's an interesting theory. Have you been talking to Miss Doherty?"

Gabriel shook his head and said, "I don't know who that is."

"She's Burchell's girl friend. Now what did you say your brother wanted?"

"I've already answered that."

"Tell me again."

"He was concerned. Our father was shot. Do you know who shot him?"

"This is for your ears only. It was one of the Drexler suspects, one of your brother's associates."

"What? Which one?"

"That's all I can tell you for now. How did your brother get here? Wasn't he worried that the place would be watched?"

"He climbed up the trash chute."

"Really! I'll want to see it."

"It's in the kitchen. I'll show you." As he led the way through a dining room, Gabriel stopped and turned around. "I gave Tyler money. He didn't ask for it, but I gave it to him."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"That's unfortunate. It could make it more difficult to find him."

"I told you about the money because I want you to understand that I'm being completely open and honest with you. And when I tell you that Tyler's innocent, that's the truth, too."

"Then he should turn himself in and let the law sort it out."

"Why won't you listen to me? He's innocent! But his friend... Will... I'm not so sure about him."

xxx

Tyler looked enviously at Jay, who was slouched just to his left, asleep. His floppy bush hat was pulled over his face, hiding his eyes, but soft snuffling sounds gave him away. As tired as he was himself, Tyler was too busy studying the other passengers, checking for any sign that they might recognize him, to even think about sleeping.

"Here," Will stuffed a brochure into Tyler's hand, "read this."

It was a sightseeing guide for Manhattan. Had Will slipped a note inside? Flipping through it, Tyler didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He waved it in front of Will's face. "Why should I read this?"

"Because people are looking at us because you're looking at them. This is the subway; you're supposed to ignore everyone else."

That was true enough. But dropping his eyes to his lap left Tyler feeling exposed. He fiddled with his hat, pulling the brim even lower, until he almost couldn't see out from under it. Then he picked up the large backpack he'd set at his feet and placed it on his lap. It was tall enough that he was well hidden behind it.

"Now you look like someone who thinks a thief is going to run away with his luggage." As Tyler went to set the pack down again, Will added, "No, no. That's fine. A little paranoia isn't out of place. There _are_ people who snatch bags."

"What about Jay's pack?"

For a split second Will's eyes flickered with fierceness. "I won't let anyone take it."

Tyler was still getting used to this new, scary Will, who appeared to be a cross between Jason Bourne and Jack Bauer, with a good deal of Benedict Arnold thrown in. How had he kept that hidden for two years?

_Eleven months earlier..._

"_Give me the camera," Graham Dixon held out his meaty left hand while his right curled into a sledgehammer-size fist, "or I'll take it from you."_

_Will backed away, immediately bumping into Tyler. The room was crowded, the party raucous, and most of those in attendance, including Dixon, were drunk. Tyler was a bit tipsy himself, but not so drunk that he wasn't outraged that the gigantic Dixon was threatening the much smaller Will. _

"_Leave him alone," Tyler said, stepping in front of Will. He could feel Nell's warning hand on his elbow, suggesting he shouldn't get involved. But Tyler wasn't going to back down when his friend was in trouble. "It's not like he's going to run to the coach and show him the video of you drinking when you're supposed to be adhering to a training routine."_

"_He won't if I have the camera," Dixon growled._

"_Back off." Jay slipped in beside Tyler. _

"_I didn't mean any harm," Will said in a placating voice. "I'm taping over that segment right now."_

_Later, Nell had pulled Tyler aside and scolded him. "You've seen Dixon on the football field, he's a mauler. He could have ripped the three of you apart and stomped the remains into fertilizer without getting winded. You were lucky. Besides, Will deserves what he gets, shoving that freaking camcorder in everyone's face." _

"I suppose you could have taken Dixon," Tyler voiced his theory out loud.

"Dixon..." It took a few seconds for Will to sort out the reference, then a small, mirthless smile teased at his lips. "It wouldn't have come to that."

W ill ruffled a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, then turned to Tyler. "Look, I know you were trying to help that night, but you shouldn't have taken the risk. Dixon was drunk out of his mind; he would have been as happy to hit you as me. Never do that again. And never do what you did at the park. If we run into trouble, stay behind me. It's safer for all of us."

"Now you tell me."

"You should have put ice on it."

"Huh?"

"Your cheek. You should have put ice on it."

"Is first aid advice your way of apologizing?"

"No."

"I didn't think so." Sighing, Tyler wrapped his arms more tightly about the pack on his lap. "You know, Will, if I had never met you before Club Fervor, I probably wouldn't like you very much."

xxx

"He threatened my daughter, Rosalind."

"He killed my son, Fred. We both want him dead, but we need him alive, if possible, until we get the painting. Now tell me what you're doing about that."

"Whaley has a promising plan in the works; Davenport is helping him. I've called in half a dozen part-timers to search the East Side. I thought about notifying Captain Fitz and getting NYPD involved in the hunt. But Fitz is beginning to act as if I'm crying _wolf_ when I tell him we've spotted Burchell and Fog. He's all but accused me of jumping at shadows, because he believes we'd have caught them by now if they were really popping up all over the place."

"Then use your FBI resources. If they get off the island, it will make finding them all the more difficult."

"I'm doing my best. Most of my people will be at the funeral this morning, but I'm going to have them out full force during the evening rush hour. If we've managed to spook Traveler and his friends, that's when they'll make their move." Chambers hesitated before continuing, "I paid a visit to Gabriel Fog this morning. He might be worth cultivating."

"Gabriel. I remember what a gallant little boy he was. He almost fell into the Potomac chasing after my hat. I think that's the last time I saw him. Carlton didn't socialize much after the divorce. Perhaps I should plan a trip to New York to offer Gabriel my support during these difficult times. Yes, I might just do that."

Chambers suppressed a groan. "We have to go slowly with him. Why don't you call Carlton and see if he can instill doubt about Tyler's innocence."

"Carlton. Such a disappointment. But I'll call him... and I'll check my schedule to see when I can get to the City. Goodbye, Fred."

Fred Chambers set the phone aside and called for a car and driver to take him to the church. While he waited for the request to be processed, he thought about Jessie. He 'd phoned three times this morning, and he could tell she was close to letting his calls go to voice mail. Maybe he'd put a guard on her, though he'd never hear the end of it if she found out. She was fiercely independent.

She was also bright, beautiful, kind and caring. And he loved her more than life itself.

"I'll drive," Will said as he slammed shut the hatch on Gabe's SUV.

Since it was Tyler's brother's car, Jay left the front seat for him, while he slid into the back. "Where are we going?"

"Connecticut," Will said, "but we have a couple of stops to make first." He retraced the route they'd walked from the train station and pulled into the parking lot of a small hardware store. Jay and Tyler waited in the car while Will shopped.

"What's in Connecticut?" Tyler asked.

Jay shook his head, equally puzzled. "A lead? Maybe Will left another stash there."

"I hope we're not going back to New Haven; we almost got caught the last time we were there."

"We almost got caught a lot of places," Jay recalled, "and did get caught at a few of them."

"Maybe we can write a book when this is over. We can call it _On the Run_ instead of _On the Road_."

"Let's hope it turns out to be a very slim book," Jay said soberly and without a hint of humor.

Less than fifteen minutes after he'd left, Will came out pushing a cart filled with an odd assortment of items: two plastic buckets, a spade, one paint stirrer, and a dozen gallon jugs of water.

He stowed them in the back, then slipped into the driver's seat. "Now we need to find a vacant lot or a park."

He drove around for almost ten minutes before locating a street that dead ended at a strip of land that bordered a canal . "It's a perfect place to appropriate some dirt."

"Dirt," Tyler echoed. "I assumed the shovel meant we'd be disposing of a body. I'm disappointed."

Since there wasn't anyone around, there was no reason for Jay and Tyler to stay in the car. They stood outside and watched Will put a shovel full of dirt in each bucket. Then he mixed in water from the gallon containers and threw the resulting mud onto the SUV, starting with the rear license plate. He repeated the process until he'd worked his way around the entire car and they were out of water. By which time it looked as if the SUV had been off roading. It made the license plate harder to read without making it look like a deliberate attempt to obscure it.

Tyler grimaced as he studied the Jeep. "I'm glad we didn't take the Porsche. Gabe babies that car. If it gets so much as a smudge, he takes it in for a wash and wax."

"Let's go," Will said. He left the buckets, shovel, stirrer and water containers in the lot. "Keep your hats pulled low, we're going back through the city. It's a bit of a risk, but it's the shortest route to Connecticut."

"Why Connecticut?" Jay asked.

"We can lay low there." Will glanced at Tyler. "Your grandmother has that place on the coast. You said no one ever went there except you."

"That's right. Gram hasn't been there since her arthritis got so bad she couldn't manage the stairs. Now that she's in a care facility, she definitely won't be going back. Even if Mom weren't living abroad, she wouldn't step foot there. She hated the cottage. Once dad bought the estate in the Hamptons, she never went back."

Jay leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of Tyler's seat. "I remember you said it was isolated."

"That's right. It's at the end of a road, on a bluff that overlooks Long Island Sound; the nearest house is at least a mile down the hill. Most of the land in the area is a designated wildlife preserve and the rest is pretty rugged. There's a beach below, but it's only accessible via a wooden staircase that runs down from the house. I've never known anyone to go there who wasn't staying at the house."

"It's exactly what we need," Will said.

"But only if it's okay with you," Jay directed his words to Tyler. "You never allowed us to go there when you checked up on the place."

"I was afraid you'd want to throw a party," Tyler said. "It would have been trashed in a weekend." He sighed mournfully. "I don't think we'll be hosting parties anytime soon."

"So?" Will ask.

"I guess it's okay. The house is going to be mine someday. Gram said she was leaving it to me because I was the only person who loved it as much as she did." He tilted his head to the side, leaning it against the glass of the window. "With her Alzheimer's and all I'd have taken care of it for her even it weren't going to be mine. Just don't expect much. It's not like dad's fancy Fog properties."

"Which increases its desirability," said Will. "You said she was your mother's mother, so there's a couple of layers of maiden names people would have to get through to trace it to you."

"Hiding out isn't going to solve our problem," Jay said, thinking of Kim and wondering when they could be together again.

"It's temporary," Will explained. "The Drexler won't be front page news for long. Once the manhunt quiets down, it will be safer for you to be out in public."

"I want to do something," Jay said. "What about the research we started at the hotel? There should be coverage in this area. Which bag has the computers?"

"Neither of them. It would have been impossible to know if they were free of tracers. I trashed all of our electronics, including the phones. The numbers were compromised. We can pick up replacements in a few days. Right now, we lay low until we're sure we've shaken that guy."

"I had work saved on that computer," Jay said, frustrated. "Don't we get a say in anything?"

Will turned on the radio. "You can choose a station. Music, sports, news, just name it."

xxx

Carlton wished his voice was less raspy. It was important to never display weakness when dealing with Rosalind Freed. _Ruthless_ was how he would and had described her. She might look like a lady, but her temperament was closer to a rabid dog.

"Listen," he said into the phone, "if you want me to help you, I expect something in return. I want the charges dropped. I know you have the influence to arrange that."

"My dear Carlton, I'll get started immediately. I can't imagine what Fred was thinking when he permitted your arrest. Jack would never have sanctioned that."

"Of course not," Carlton played the game and didn't mention that Jack had to have been behind the attempt on his life. Chambers would never have dared that on his own.

"So you'll talk to Gabriel?"

"I will," Carlton said as the door to his room opened. "I have to go now. My son is here. I appreciate your call and your concern."

"You look better," Gabriel said. "How are you feeling?"

"I slept well. The rest will come with time. How was your evening?"

Gabriel pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. "I saw Tyler."

Carlton acted shocked. "Where? How? You can't tell anyone; they'll arrest you."

"The FBI already knows." Shoulders hunched and head drooping, Gabriel looked like a wayward child. "I was stupid. Agent Chambers tricked me."

"Gabriel, I don't want you to get involved in your brother's troubles."

"But dad, we have to help him."

"I tried to help him, and the man I hired ended up dead."

"What are you saying?"

Carlton rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not sure. I mean, of course, Tyler is innocent, but there's so much I don't understand. Why would--"

Before he could say more, a nurse entered the room. "It's time for your meds, sir." She studied Gabe and smiled. "Are you his son?"

"Yes."

"He hasn't stopped talking about you. I'm glad you could be here for him. But now he needs to rest; I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Gabe gave Carlton's arm a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back as soon as they'll let me in the room," he promised.

When he was alone again, Carlton closed his eyes thinking the sedative couldn't kick in soon enough. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be quick and clean. Tyler should have died in the Drexler. Carlton wouldn't have had to see him or face his accusations or set him up a second time. He would have been the grieving father, putting on a brave face as he accepted everyone's condolences, and Gabriel would never have had to get involved.

It was all Jack Freed's fault. He'd chosen Traveler for the job. Carlton had known from his first glimpse of the young man that he wasn't up to the task. It was only fitting that Freed had paid the ultimate price for his mistake; he hoped Rosalind would realize that.

As for Tyler, Tyler was lost to him. He was a walking dead man, and Carlton wouldn't allow himself to regret the decision he'd made over two years earlier. The Fog family was more important than any one individual, even when that person was his own son.

xxx

Marlow managed to hold together until the bugler began to play taps. Then it hit her that Borjes was really gone, forever gone, and her eyes flooded with tears. She stepped back, away from the crowd of mourners, and remained in semi-private seclusion while the service concluded.

With the loss of Borjes, she felt very alone. She didn't know who else in the office she could trust. At least she still had Harold Stone. If she needed information, she'd contact him.

While Borjes' military comrades couldn't help with the investigation, she could count on them for moral support; she knew they were as eager as she was to see Otis Whaley brought to justice. They'd exchanged phone numbers the night before and promised to keep in touch. They'd also kindly invited her to join them after the funeral, but understood when she told them she preferred to mourn on her own.

She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She was going to buy a sandwich and take it down to Battery Park for a solitary picnic lunch. She and Borjes had spent many hours on its benches, batting ideas back and forth, with Lady Liberty looking on. It seemed a fitting place for her final farewell.

xxx

Jon Anselmo muttered a string of curses in three different languages, then pulled out his phone and punched in a dial code.

"Good morning, Jon," his employer's voice came through the phone.

"Sir, I have bad news. They found the tracer. They've taken off and I don't know where."

"I thought you said last night's contact wouldn't have given them cause for suspicion."

"It shouldn't have. The gun was here all evening. I didn't use it to track them. I don't know what would have prompted one of them to remove the grip. I never heard any of them mention it. They appeared to be settled in for the night when I went to bed. I got up about seven. When I hadn't heard anything by eleven, I came up to check. There was a _Do Not Disturb _sign on the door, but the room had been cleared out."

"That's unfortunate."

"It could have been worse. The tracer was in a GPS unit they left in the room. I imagine they were hoping someone would take it and I'd end up following it for days before realizing it wasn't in their possession."

"What should we do?"

"Research. Use your contacts to try to find out where they might be; I'll do the same. Maybe Fog's brother knows something. After I give their room a thorough search I'll see what I can find out about him."

"All right. I'll call my man and tell him to keep an eye on the pipeline."

"I'm sorry, sir. I should have kept a closer watch on them."

"You're only one man, Jon. You have to sleep. We knew this wasn't going to be easy. I'm the one who insisted you work on your own. I trust that we'll find them again. Call me if you learn anything; I'll do the same."

xxx

Seated in a seven-year-old silver Honda Civic provided by his employers, Ed Carter tapped on the steering wheel, impatient to finish his assignment. The one thing he hated about Hometown was the waiting. Waiting last night outside of the Fog penthouse; now waiting again on a side street in Queens.

The excitement part he generally enjoyed. There was nothing like the adrenaline rush of battle to make him feel really alive. And most of the time the Hometown force prevailed. Last night had been an exception, one he hoped they would rectify soon.

In the meantime, he'd continue to sit, continue to wait, and hope that Whaley's call would come soon.

xxx

"Will, would you quit fiddling with the temperature. Since we started out, you've had it roasting one minute and freezing the next."

"I'm driving. I'm not familiar with the car. You're as close to the controls as I am. You set the temperature!"

"I'll do that," Tyler said, reaching for the knob.

Listening to their bickering, Jay had to hold his tongue to keep from joining them. Tyler was right about the temperature fluctuations, and Will was right to point out that Tyler could have adjusted it himself. But they didn't have to be so grumpy about it.

Jay blamed the flat tire delay for their ruffled tempers; it had them on edge. After the blowout, he and Tyler had had to hide behind a clump of evergreens on the far side of the guardrail while Will replaced the damaged tire with the undersized spare. They didn't want to be in sight if a Good Samaritan motorist stopped to offer help. The precaution paid off when a highway patrol vehicle pulled in behind the SUV. The five minutes that Will had spent chatting with the officer had felt like an eternity to Jay.

With the continuing worry that someone would recognize Jay or Tyler, Will had left them to wait behind a dumpster at a boarded-up bowling alley while he'd purchased a new tire. When he'd returned with a glower as large as the state of Rhode Island, Jay had thought it best not to ask what had taken close to two hours.

Now they were on the road again, barely, headed back toward the highway.

Spotting a convenience store in the next block, Jay said, "I could use a food stop." Having missed breakfast, his stomach was making noises that suggested it didn't want to skip lunch as well.

Will looked perturbed over another delay, but he pulled into the lot without voicing an objection. "What do you want?" he asked.

Tyler rubbed his hand over his stomach as if he weren't quite sure how it would respond to food after its upset the night before. "Granola bars and a quart of milk," he finally said.

Jay had already made his decision. "Two breakfast sandwiches on bagels, a large coffee, and something sweet, a doughnut or a Danish, the gooier the better."

While Jay and Tyler ate, Will leaned against the car and sipped Perrier, staying outside even after a light rain began to fall.

"How far is it to your grandmother's place?" Jay asked between bites.

"Maybe an hour, depending on traffic."

"I wish Kim was with us."

"She's got to be safer where she is. How did she sound?"

"Confused. Stressed. But hanging in there."

Will opened the door. "Time to go."

"I'll drive." Tyler sounded considerably more cheerful after getting food in his belly. "I know the way; it's easier than giving directions."

"Fine," Will said. "Jay, you ride up front."

As he switched seats, Jay couldn't help but think of their departure from New Haven, when he'd had to chase the car for a block before they'd stopped to let him in. It had been annoying at the time, but preferable to now, with Will practically ordering him to take the choice seat. The camaraderie of the road trip seemed to be lost in what felt like the distant past.

xxx

Kim paced in a tight circle, stretching her arms above her head, which was about the only exercise the small space permitted. She'd been at the consulate for less than twenty-four hours and she was already bored to near craziness. After writing a short note to her parents, there had been nothing to occupy her time.

The magazines couldn't hold her attention. While her hosts had brought her a small TV, the daytime hours didn't offer much in the way of compelling viewing. Besides, she wanted to keep it tuned to CNN in case there was any mention of Jay. The Drexler was all over the news, but the current focus was an FBI agent's funeral. Reports said his death was connected to the bombing. She knew neither Jay nor Tyler would have shot him. She wasn't as sure about Will. Though, truth be told, Will had never been listed as a suspect or even as a person of interest. And that was another puzzle entirely.

Marlow said they knew Will existed. And when Chambers had questioned her after the incident at Club Fervor, he'd intimated that Will was with Jay and Tyler and that they were looking for all three of them. Yet there was no public indication that Will was under suspicion. It was very strange, indeed.

xxx

A stiff breeze whipped Marlow's hair into a frenzy. She had to continuously brush strands away from her mouth so that she could nibble at her corned beef sandwich. It wasn't really outdoor weather, but she didn't mind. It meant she had a bench to herself.

Glancing over her shoulder, she stared at the space where the twin towers had streaked into the sky. The bombing of the Drexler had brought 9/11 back for many people. She saw the wary faces in the subway, the eyes that turned skyward at the sound of a car backfiring. Even now, more than a week after the blast, she'd heard that attendance continued to be down in area schools. Parents were worried about their children's safety, and who could blame them when danger was as close as a field trip to a local art museum.

They needed to find out the who, what and why behind the Drexler before people would feel safe–well, relatively safe–again.

Marlow set her unfinished sandwich on the bench and pulled out the notebook she kept in her purse. But she couldn't think of anything to write down. There were no new leads to pursue. She had lists of people who were possibly involved in the Drexler case--such as Joseph Langdon, a private consultant, and Otis Whaley, an undercover Federal agent–but no way to connect them. Traveler was connected to Joseph, was he also–?

The chimes on her phone signaled an incoming call. A quick check of the screen showed it was from the Boston Field Office.

"Hello."

"Agent Marlow, this is Seth Watkins. I was very sorry to hear about your partner, and normally I wouldn't bother you with business when you have that on your mind, but we've got a major problem."

"What is it?"

"The picture of Traveler never reached law enforcement agencies."

"You told me every cop on the street had it."

"That's what I thought. It's what was supposed to happen, but there was some kind of computer glitch. I didn't find out until today."

"What about the TTY?"

"The same thing. The attached picture was corrupt; no one could access it. The library's security records that we copied to disk were full of gibberish, including the frame grab of Traveler. The file names were there, but nothing else."

"Then you'll have to go back to the library and get another copy of their surveillance footage."

Watkins coughed lightly. "Tech thinks the problem originated at the library. Their system crashed an hour after we left. They lost everything."

"But we saw the picture on their computer screen. We printed out a copy. It was fine."

"I know. Tech has their hard drive but can't pull anything from it. They suspect a virus got into the system."

"A virus got into a closed surveillance system?"

"They think it must have been on the disk we put in to copy the file. We never looked at it again. We sent it as if it was there. The long and short of it is that you have the only print of Traveler's picture. I need you to fax it to me."

A computer virus? Was Watkins that naive? Or was he responsible for the corruption? Marlow wanted to think the likable young agent was simply gullible, but she couldn't take that chance, couldn't share her suspicion that the FBI was involved in the Drexler affair.

"I wish I could send you the picture," she instinctively lied and wasn't sure why. Because Traveler had saved Borjes' life in Iraq? Because she didn't trust that the FBI wouldn't shoot a valuable resource on sight? "I don't have it. I'd been carrying it around with me; in fact, I took it to Yale yesterday. It got crinkled to where the picture was distorted. I assumed I could easily print a replacement."

"You don't have it."

"I'm sorry. I left Kim Doherty's drawing in my office. I'll call and have someone fax that to you."

"That's better than nothing. It's not as if it was a clear picture." Watkins sounded like someone who was trying to cheer himself up. "Have you heard anything new on the case?"

"No. I'm taking a leave of absence. You'll have to check with Chambers for updates."

"Well, you take it easy. I really am sorry about your partner. Thank you for your time."

So the elusive Will Traveler was still being protected. Or was it that someone didn't want him to be found? He was the link, the link to Joseph, the link to Fog and Burchell, and perhaps the link to others who were involved in the Drexler. If Traveler fell into inquiring hands, the entire conspiracy might tumble after him.

xxx

"Next exit is ours," Tyler announced. The light rain had ended, and the sun was glimmering behind puffy gray clouds.

"Pull over before the ramp," Will said.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Tyler didn't bother to argue. If the three of them were a team, then Will was their Chad Johnson, the showy Bengals receiver who supposedly didn't listen to anyone, including his coaches. Yes, that was Will, a temperamental prima donna.

As he directed the car onto the shoulder, Tyler just managed to resist saying _We're here, your majesty. _

With his small pack slung over his right shoulder, Will slipped out of the back seat and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jay lowered his window. "What's going on?"

"It's better if we split up."

"What?" Jay jumped out of the car and confronted him. "You don't really believe that?"

Tyler followed more slowly. As annoyed as he'd been with Will a minute ago, he wasn't surprised to find he agreed with Jay. They belonged together.

Will had a different perspective. "I work better alone. You and Tyler should be okay at his grandmother's place."

"I'm not going to let you leave," Jay said.

"You don't really have a choice." With his arms dangling at his sides in the manner of a fighter who held no respect for his opponent, Will's body exuded arrogant confidence. "It's not as if you can stop me."

Jay looked ready to take up the dare. "Don't," Tyler said, "you might hurt him." Under different circumstances, the dumbfounded expression that flowed across Will's face would have been amusing. But nothing about this disagreement was funny. Tyler stood his ground, saying, "Jay beat you up once before."

"That's right," Jay said. He pointed to Will's side. "And you still aren't a hundred percent."

Tyler jabbed his finger into Will's chest. "You were the one who said we had to come with you; you were supposed to help us get our lives back. Are you reneging on that, already?"

With a slight shake of his head, Will ground out a reply. "You heard what Freed said: the Drexler was about fear and control. This is far bigger than framing the two of you for the bomb. We don't know how deep its roots are or how widespread its branches."

"Which makes it all the more imperative that we expose those who are responsible," Jay said.

"The three of us?" Will asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Tyler shrugged his shoulders. "Isn't that better than the two of us and the one of you?"

Will scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his right shoe, not saying anything. The eerie post-storm light accented the planes and angles of his face. He looked more like a stone carving than a flesh and blood human. "You just don't understand. You have no idea."

"Between the bombs and the bullets, we have something of an idea," Jay countered. "But if you want to give up, be my guest." He spun on his heel and headed toward the car.

Tyler took a last look at Will before following Jay. He was almost to the car door, when Will called, "Okay. We'll do it your way."

xxx

Otis Whaley set aside his binoculars and punched a number into his cell phone. When the man on the other end answered, he said, "Davenport, there's movement at the Doherty house. Female. Hair is short, stylishly cut, sandy colored. She's approximately five feet, four inches, medium build, wearing dark pants and a pale lavender quilted jacket. She's headed east. Possible destination is the subway station. Circle the block, get behind her and take care of this."

"Will do."

"I'll swing around and pick you up when you've finished."

xxx

The last house was a good mile and a half behind them. The road was climbing now, slowly and steadily, with a thick border of hemlock, hickory and conifers on both sides. Tyler notched the gear downward, as the SUV bounced over gaping potholes. Maintenance on this section of the road was spotty at best; it didn't look as if so much as a patching crew had been through in the long months since the previous winter.

He eased through the sharp curve that marked the end of the forest, and seconds later they were rolling over the flat, open promontory with the house straight ahead. It looked bleak and lonely, set at the tip of the triangular shaped bluff, with gray sky above and gray water below.

"There it is," Tyler said, hoping Jay and Will wouldn't be too disappointed. He knew the house was a weathered relic of a bygone era, but whenever he saw it a seductive sense of peace flowed through his entire being. He'd spent many a carefree summer day here, away from the critical eyes of his father, who always had some reason or another to stay in New York rather than accompany the rest of the family to the beach.

Though calling it a beach was something of a misnomer. The narrow strip of sand and pebbles at the foot of the cliff all but disappeared at high tide.

"I like it," Jay said as Tyler pulled to a stop. "It's got character."

Tyler climbed out the car and stood with his hands on hips, trying to view house as others might see it. "My mother always said it was an architectural nightmare," he said. And he could understand why. There was the door that never quite closed on the large outbuilding, the uneven steps leading to the front porch, and the assortment of additions that didn't match the rest of the house: the expanded kitchen and the utility room on the first floor, not to mention the cupola that had been built on top of the Widow's Walk. "There's a newish deck in the back," he said as he stepped out of the car. "Wait until you see the view."

"I can already see it." Walking along the path that circled the house to the right, Jay's eyes swept the horizon. "This land must be worth a fortune."

"It would be if anyone could build on it," Tyler said. "There were provisions in my great grandfather's will that restricted the use of the site to the original residence. The land reverts to a trust if the house is torn down. You can add to it, with certain limitations, but you can't tear it down and rebuild. Ethan Worth was something of a visionary. Even way back then he could foresee what a developer would do to the property–they would have squeezed six houses up here--and he wasn't going to allow that to happen. He didn't even want a McMansion, not that they called them that back then, because he didn't want to have to entertain visitors. He kept it small so that he'd have a quiet retreat away from the bustle of the city."

"Can we get the car in there?" Will nodded toward the large structure to the left and slightly in front of the house.

"We might have to move a few things," Tyler answered, "but there should be plenty of room. It was originally a stable. Gram brought her horses with her when she was a little girl. But most of the stalls have been removed and now we just use it for storage. There's nothing much inside, a kayak, deck furniture, beach chairs." He walked up and pried open both doors, revealing the spacious, but slightly cluttered interior.

"Horses," Jay echoed. "Is this the same grandmother that dragged you to the Drexler?"

"No. That was my Dad's mother. Let's unpack, then we can shove stuff around to make room for the car." The storage area of the SUV was filled with groceries that Will had purchased at the first supermarket they'd encountered after exiting the interstate. "Save ourselves a couple of steps."

"That's a good idea." Jay turned back to the car, but pulled up short before he reached the rear hatch. "Will, what are you doing?"

Will was slipping a shoulder holster over his t-shirt. "I don't think I missed any tracers, but in case I did, I want to be ready." He patted the gun he'd stuck in the holster. "I'm going to take a look around." With that, he headed for the path that Jay had recently abandoned.

Tyler clicked open the back hatch. "I guess we get to do the grunt work. When we've finished unpacking and get the car stowed, I'll give you the grand tour."

xxx

Marlow tossed her trash into the mesh receptacle and headed for the subway. The emotional impact of the funeral wrapped about her like a heavy cloak, causing her shoulders to sag and stifling her energy. What should have been a five minute walk took twice as long.

She was almost to the entrance when her phone rang. It was Hanley. If he put forth a second invitation to their wake, she thought she might take him up on it.

"Hi, Pete."

"Jan, just a second. It's noisy in here. I'm almost outside." The background din faded before Marlow could have counted to twenty. "Okay, that's better."

"Are you guys okay?"

"No, but we will be. That's not why I called. You remember that Stewart had to get back to his post?"

"I know he said something about an assignment; I don't remember the particulars."

"The particulars aren't important. It's his trip to Newport that turned up something of a surprise. He thinks he saw Nightingale."

"What?"

"Yeah. We're talking about him last night for the first time in I don't know how long, then Stewart thinks he sees him. He almost didn't call me; he thought his mind might have been playing tricks on him."

"Playing tricks? I don't understand."

"It's because it happened so quickly. Stewart was zipping along 95 in the far left lane when he noticed an SUV pulled over on the shoulder. There were three men standing beside it. And he's pretty sure one of them was Nightingale."

"Three men." Marlow felt her pulse speed up. "What did the other two look like?"

"He didn't say. By the time he could get over to the right lane, he was well beyond where they were. He ended up getting off at the next exit and circling back around. But the SUV and the men were gone."

"I have to talk to Stewart."

"Do you think it might have been Nightingale?"

"I'm not sure," Marlow said, though the mentioned of three men had her hopeful. "Where's Stewart now?"

"Back on the road. But he's got a hands-free device, so go ahead and call."

"Will do. Thanks, Pete."

xxx

Stretched out on the bed, Kim couldn't tell if she was awake or dreaming when she heard someone say _Doherty_. Blinking open her eyes, she braced herself on her elbows and looked toward the door. "Who's there?" she called.

Only heavy silence answered her.

Puzzled, she swung her legs off the bed as the TV to her right chattered away. "...about an hour ago in Queens. Local police have cordoned off the area and are awaiting the arrival of the FBI, who were called in because of the victim's connection to the Drexler."

_Queens! Drexler!_ Kim snapped her head around to study the screen. The banner headlines were scrolling across the bottom. ..._abandoned the car at the scene. Eileen Doherty was taken by ambulance to New York Medical Center..."_

Kim didn't wait to read more. She jumped out of bed, pulled open the night stand drawer, and grabbed the top two bills. Among the clothes provided by her hosts were a pair of athletic shoes. She jammed her feet into them and dashed out of the room.

xxx

Jay trotted down the stairs ahead of Tyler. "That room at the top is amazing. It's so high, you almost think you could see halfway around the world if the sky was clear."

"It wasn't always a room. Originally, it was open, a Widow's Walk, like women used to watch for their sea-faring husbands. Gabe and I were always pestering Gram to let us sleep up there, but she was afraid we'd fall off. One night we waited until everyone was asleep and snuck up with our sleeping bags. Gram found out the next morning. An hour later she was calling contractors to get a room built over it. She said if we were going to sleep up there, she wasn't going to be up all night worrying about us."

"Sounds like a sensible solution," Jay said.

"Not when you're a kid . We felt cheated." Tyler hopped on the banister and slid past Jay, skipping off at the bottom and landing on his feet. "She didn't like it when we did that, either."

"Racing cars in upstate New York, sleeping on a roof, climbing about trash chutes, you and Gabe must have been a handful."

"We egged each other on," Tyler admitted. "Even when we were small, we went through nannies faster than we outgrew shoes. Those were good times." He pointed down the hallway. "How about a beer later? I've got Heineken and Guinness in the pantry; I'll put some bottles on ice."

"That sounds like a plan." Now that they were somewhere safe, Jay thought they would benefit from an opportunity to unwind.

Jay turned left into the great room that ran from the front of the house to the back. As Tyler explained it, the entire first floor had been gutted and modernized, including this area that had originally been two smaller rooms.

Jay spotted Will at the square table in the far back corner of the room, where an expanse of windows looked out on the Sound. He was digging first aid supplies out of his pack and lining them up on the wooden surface.

Walking toward him, Jay said, "We divvied up bedrooms while we were upstairs. Yours is the one in the right front of the house."

"Can I see the road from it?"

"Yes," Tyler answered as he entered through the door that connected to the kitchen. "Jay and I are in the bedrooms in the back. I thought you might want to be in the front."

Will pulled up his t-shirt and began plucking at a corner of the tape that held a bloodied dressing in place. "The good news is there's only one way in here. If he's still tracking us, the Porter will have to come by the road. The bad news..." he paused, sucking in a sharp breath as he yanked the tape and bandage free, "is there's only one way in here. We don't have an escape route unless we want to swim."

"I wouldn't recommend trying to swim," Tyler said. "You'd have to swing wide to get around the rocks. The water temperature is already cooling; you'd end up with hypothermia." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "We used to have a couple of wetsuits. They might be in the stable."

"Wetsuits would give us an out." Dropping into a straight-backed chair, Will dabbed at his side with antiseptic coated gauze. "See what you have. I'll purchase whatever else we need to outfit the three of us."

"Do you need more light?" Without waiting for an answer, Tyler walked over to the wall and flipped a switch.

With light from the chandelier flooding the area, Jay could see that Will's forehead was dotted with small beads of sweat. It didn't look like a healthy, heavy exercise type of sweat. "How's your side?" he asked as Will ripped open a second packet of gauze.

"There's some infection," Will answered in a casual voice that he might have used to announce an overdue library book.

Tyler wandered closer, glanced down and immediately turned away. "That doesn't look good."

Will's shrug suggested he wasn't concerned. "I'm dealing with it," he said just before a hiss whistled from between his lips. "Do you have scissors?"

Tyler retrieved scissors from a desk drawer and handed them over. "I'll check on those wetsuits," he said and beat a hasty retreat.

Jay was half tempted to follow him. Staying meant an awkward repeat of the shop in Chinatown, when they'd sat and watched Will treat himself. Jay had kept seeing two Wills: the familiar Will who had been his friend and confidant and the man who had betrayed them. He'd avoided cringing on behalf of the former by concentrating on the Will who had lied to them about everything, including the dead father.

Now it was happening again. Every instinct from the past two years told him to offer to help, and he had to keep reminding himself that the other man wasn't a close friend, he was a stranger. Digging his hands into his pockets, Jay strolled to the window and stared out, but the only thing he saw was the faint reflection of his own troubled face, jaw squared and lips pressed together.

"Go on, Jay, say it."

He turned slowly, trying to figure out what Will, this new Will, meant. "Say what?"

"Whatever you have on your mind. I know that look."

"Well I don't know your look," Jay said, "and it turns out I never did. That's what's on my mind. How did you do it, Will? How were you two different people at the same time? You pretended to be our friend. How did you keep that separate from the person who was setting us up?"

Intent on taping a dressing in place, Will didn't so much as glance Jay's way as he answered. "I've had a lot of practice."

"That's all you're going to say?" Jay threw his hands in the air.

"You asked how I did it. I answered you."

Jay felt his right hand curling into a fist. He wanted to slam it into Will. Not because he had a desire to hurt him, but to elicit a response, any response, that would make Will recognizably human, something that would help him figure out who Will was as a person. But his hand relaxed almost as quickly as it had tensed. It was one thing to punch Will before he knew about his injury; he couldn't do it now, not with the smell of antiseptic ripe in the air.

The storm that had been building in Jay receded. "I guess I'm going to have to get to know you all over again."

Will _did_ glance up at that, as if the words caught him by surprise. His face was guarded, uncertain. Before Jay could begin to read meaning into Will's expression, the other man jerked to his feet. Almost immediately, the blood drained from his face and his body appeared to go boneless. He grasped the edge of the table and folded toward the floor in a semi-controlled collapse.

As he set his legs in motion, intent on catching Will, Jay realized he wasn't surprised. A bullet didn't rip through human flesh without exacting consequences. Someone, most especially Will himself, should have taken that into consideration, but none of them had.

Dropping to his knees, Jay slid his hands under Will's upper arms just before the other man let go of the table. Jay eased him down until Will's head rested against his bent knees. His hair no sooner contacted Jay's jeans when Will's eyes fluttered shut.

"Will," Jay said, calling gently at first, then louder. "Will!"

end of Episode 4

**(Note to readers: We're heading into the wild –well, maybe not quite **_**into the wild**_**, but we will be visiting Alaska–for two weeks in June, so Episode 5 will be delayed.**)


	5. Chapter 5

While I knew my vacation would interfere with my ability to complete this segment in a timely fashion, I never expected the chapter to take this long to finish. I'm sorry to have kept readers waiting. The nuances of one storyline proved to be particularly evasive and required a lot of rewrites.

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

EPISODE 5: THE THORN, Part 1

_The thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished and pruned pricks more deeply and draws more blood. _Maya Angelou

After seven rings failed to get a response, Marlow was about to give up on her call to Ian Stewart when the grizzled veteran of more than twenty-five years finally answered his phone. When she'd met Stewart the night before, she'd formed an instant impression of a man who was still in the marines because the corps had become more than a job for him: it was his life.

"Sorry to take so long," he said, his voice as no-nonsense as she remembered it. "I was going through check-in at the base when the phone rang."

"Hanley said you think you saw Nightingale. I'd like to walk you through the encounter, if you don't mind."

"Let me pull over first. I don't want to block traffic." It wasn't long before he said, "Okay. Fire away."

Marlow had already set her phone on speaker, leaving her hands free to take notes. "Let's start at the beginning. What first caught your eye?"

"A vehicle parked on the shoulder. I had a flashback moment and my gut kind of went queasy. Over in the sandbox I saw more than my share of abandoned vehicles that were rigged with explosives.

"Even as those old memories fluttered through my mind, I knew I was in the US of A, and I wondered if the driver could use a hand. I'm not a mechanic but I can change a tire or jump a battery. Then I noticed two guys standing near the car. They looked young and fit, and weren't trying to flag down help or anything, so I figured my services weren't needed."

"Hanley said you saw _three_ men."

"Not at first," Stewart broke in before Marlow could get to her question. "At first, I could only see the two. Their backs were to me. They seemed to be talking to a third person, but I couldn't be sure; their bodies blocked my view."

"The two you saw first, you said they were young and fit. But if you could only see their backs, how did you make that judgment?"

When Stewart didn't immediately reply, Marlow knew he was replaying the scene in his mind. "A lot was based on their build," he finally said. "They were lean-looking, trim. But also from their clothes. Both of them were wearing jeans and those sweatshirts with hoods that are so popular with young people. And hats; they had on hats, a ball cap and a bush hat."

"Did you see their faces?"

"Not long enough that I could give you a description. As soon as the one in the darker sweatshirt turned around, I spotted the third man. There was something about the way he was standing that sent my mind plunging right back to Iraq again, but in a good way rather than a bad way. I thought it had to be a mirage. Then I glanced at his face and was so startled I almost ran into the guardrail. I wasn't sure when I talked to Pete, but the more I think about it, the more sure I am: it was that Carrington boy. There just can't be more than one kid that size who carries himself like he's the biggest, baddest dude in town."

"So you're basing your identification on body language?"

"Mostly. And your picture. Traffic kept getting between us, but there were moments when my view was clear; it was the face in your picture."

"What else do you remember? Anything about the car?"

"I'd almost forgotten that," Stewart said. "The other reason I figured they were young... It was a green SUV and it was covered with mud. I figured they were off roading, which seems like more of a young man's activity. And I wondered if they'd gotten a bit careless and damaged it, and that's why they were stopped."

"Do you know the make?"

Stewart sighed. "Sorry, no. I just know it was dirty." He sounded sheepish as he continued, "I know men are supposed to recognize all of those macho SUVs on sight, but I've always driven compacts. Cars are just transportation to me."

"Is there anything else?"

Again he paused, taking almost a full minute to answer. "I was almost even with them when the second fellow started back to the car. The first one was already opening the door to the front passenger seat. When I looked in my rear view mirror, Nightingale hadn't budged from where I first saw him. I was left with the impression of a rock that was never going to move. Then I was around a bend and they were out of sight.

"But he must have moved," Stewart said a moment later. "Because the three of them and the car were gone when I circled back. I almost think they had to have gotten off at that exit or I would have seen them again. It's hard to miss an SUV covered in mud."

"Stewart, I owe you big time," Marlow said. "Now if you can just give me one more piece of information. I need to know the number of the exit."

xxx

"Jess, Jess, stop."

Jess Chambers glanced in her bike's side mirror and saw a familiar purple and gold helmet closing in behind her. Braking, she directed her bike into the grass next to the paved path. "Amy, I thought we were meeting at Starbucks in an hour."

"We are." Amy skidded in next to her. "But I couldn't wait, and I knew you'd be headed for the library around now. Look..." Reaching into her backpack, Amy pulled out the morning edition of the New York Citizen and passed it over. "Check out the picture on page three."

Jess flipped open the newspaper and scanned the page; her eyes immediately zeroed in on a face she hadn't seen in almost three years. "Gabriel!"

"Gabriel, whose last name turns out to be Fog," Amy said. "His brother is Tyler Fog."

Jess could feel her eyes widen. "The guy who blew up the Drexler?"

"One and the same."

"That's my dad's case." Jess scanned the article. "I remember Gabriel said he had a brother. It says he's in the military; he's been in Iraq."

"They gave him leave because his father was shot."

"Carlton Fog," Jess recalled. "My dad was there when it happened. One of his men was killed while trying to catch the shooter. Dad was really upset."

Amy tapped the article with her finger. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about what Gabe spent to repair the car you borrowed from Chris. He's a Fog. That bill was pocket change for him."

"It was still a kind gesture," Jess said. "I'll never forget that evening. It was dark, and there wasn't any traffic on that sliver of a country road, and I couldn't get a signal on my cell phone. I might have been there all night if he hadn't come along. Then for him to arrange to pay the bills for the tow truck and the repair, I don't know what I would have done without him. I didn't even have a credit card back then. And he made the mechanic promise not to tell me the bills were paid until after he left. And he waited until you got there to make sure I had a ride home. That's going way beyond generous and thoughtful."

Amy rolled her eyes. "I seem to recall your mentioning that at least a hundred times on the way back to the dorm."

"It deserved saying." Jess folded up the paper and handed it back to her friend. "Poor Gabe. He's got a brother in serious trouble and a dad in the hospital."

"I don't like the sound of that. He's not one of those dogs that you're always running off to rescue."

"I owe him the money."

"He doesn't need the money."

"But he might need a friendly face. He went out of his way for me."

"It's your father's case," Amy reminded her.

"Well, it's not my case. He was my guardian angel. It's the least I can do."

xxx

Sheer stubbornness kept Will from succumbing to the swirling vortex that tugged him toward a white void. For long seconds, perhaps even minutes, he could do nothing but maintain a tenuous hold on consciousness as a maelstrom raged around and through him. Logic told him he was securely anchored by gravity, but his spinning senses were delivering an entirely different perception, one that made him think he'd been thrown into the tornado that swept Dorothy to Oz.

Finally, gradually, the whirlwind slowed and he began to reconnect to his shadow self, his mind slipping back into a body that was dizzy, achy and nauseous. As his awareness sharpened, he detected a cushion of human flesh supporting his head and hands smoothing over his arms.

It had to be Jay, because no one else had been in the room when he'd-

"Tyler!" Jay's worried shout interrupted his musings and motivated Will to stir.

"I'm all right," he managed to whisper. But it was at least another thirty seconds before he could give credence to the lie by tapping into a reserve of energy that allowed him to roll onto the floor, landing on his stomach. "I stood up too quickly. That's all."

By concentrating on every slight detail of movement, he was able to plant his hands on the carpet, one at a time, and blink open his eyes. The world was undulating in a topsy turvy motion, but not so much that he couldn't compensate. Utilizing a second concentration of resources, he flipped onto his back and propped himself on his elbows just as Tyler burst into the room.

"What's going on?" Tyler asked, his eyes darting from Will to Jay.

Jay made a sweeping gesture toward Will before climbing to his feet. "He passed out."

"Not quite," Will said. "It was a moment of lightheadedness." He dug deep and found his most charming Will-the-graduate-student smile. "I could use a hand up."

Jay reached down to take Will's left hand. Tyler followed a moment later, a dubious expression on his face as he grasped Will's right arm. Together, they easily hauled him to his feet.

"Maybe you should sit down," Tyler said, keeping a firm grip on his elbow. Will made a feeble attempt to shake free before allowing him to guide him to the sofa. He didn't make any effort to ease down, he simply unlocked his knees and let his body drop. The jarring landing sent a painful wave lancing through his side. He clenched his lips, closed his eyes and waited for it to subside.

His head had gone from floating to almost too heavy to hold up. Leaning it against the back of the sofa, he repeated, "I'm all right." This time the words were directed inward, to himself, because anything less than _all right_ simply wasn't acceptable. He had to stay focused.

Brushing a hand over the gun holstered against his chest, he reassured himself of its presence. To the best of his knowledge there was no immediate danger. But with the mysterious porter still a potential threat, it was important to be prepared.

Will thought his search of their belongings had been thorough, but could he really be sure? Those tracers weren't much bigger than a corn flake. Maybe he should make a second check of their possessions. No, that was stupid. If there was another tracer, it was too late. The man would already know where they were. He wasn't thinking clearly. Frustrated, he rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. _A few more minutes. I'll be fine in a few minutes. _

He'd been vaguely aware of the murmur of nearby voices, but they hadn't registered as anything more than background noise until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Will," Jay said, then repeated, "Will."

Squinting open his eyes, Will saw Jay and Tyler looming over him. Tyler nodded to Jay, then they each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up. "You need a doctor," Jay said as he attempted to sling Will's arm over his shoulder. "We're taking you to a hospital."

Will twisted free of their holds and shoved them back. "Don't even think about it. We didn't get this far for the two of you to throw everything away."

"You said they didn't have your picture," Tyler said. "No one would know who you are. We could drop you off."

"It's a bullet wound; they have to report it." Will shook his head at their naivete. "The FBI will have searched that store in Chinatown by now. They'll know that one of us was hurt, and you can be sure that every hospital and doctor in a five-hundred mile radius has been put on alert. The authorities might not have my picture, but the people behind this know what I look like, and they'll be the first ones on the scene." He glowered at each of them in turn. "No hospital. No doctor."

"But... If we don't-" Jay broke off, biting his lip.

There were times when Jay was easier to read than a large-print book.

"If I die," Will said, stating the words that Jay couldn't bring himself to say, "you do your best to dispose of the body so that no one finds it. If they think I'm with you, they'll be more cautious. An extra five or ten minutes can mean the difference between capture and escape. Understand?" The stark widening of their eyes was answer enough.

"But I don't plan on dying just yet." He twisted his mouth into a crooked grin that was meant to mock their concern. "I'm fine," he said while sinking back onto the sofa.

"Fine?" Tyler's voice was sharp and shrill. "And Scarlet Johansson has me on speed dial."

"Come on, Will," Jay said. "Tell us what's going on. What can we do to help?"

It didn't seem as if they were going to let up, so Will rattled off a condensed version of what he thought had happened. "I've been taking amphetamines to stay awake. They wore off. That's why I got woozy."

Jay wasn't finished. "And your side?"

"I don't know. I'm waiting for the antibiotics to kick in."

"Earlier," Tyler said, "all of that fiddling with the car thermostat, that wasn't because you didn't know how to use it."

"That's right."

The interrogation was fraying on Will's nerves. "If you want to help, save any other questions for later. I'd like to get some sleep." He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa, tucking a decorative pillow under his head.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," Tyler pointed out.

"This is fine." He started to close his eyes, then opened them again. "Wake me if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, and I mean anything."

xxx

Standing in a shadowed doorway not far from the New York Medical Center, Fred Chambers surveyed the passers by with grim urgency. Spotting a bobbing head of blonde hair, he shifted to the right, trying to see through the crowd to spot the face that went with it. Before he could manage a clear view, a voice filtered through the receiver in his ear, "I see Doherty. She's headed for Emergency."

"All right, team," Chambers spoke into his transmitter as he broke into a jog. "Let's get this right. I want her intercepted before she enters the hospital. Alvarez, Ford, do you see her?"

"Just now," Alvarez whispered a reply. "We're moving in."

"Whaley, she knows what you look like; I don't want you involved. Let the others handle it." Chambers rounded the corner of the building and skidded to a halt. He could see Kim hurrying toward the emergency entrance, with Alvarez and Ford closing in on either side. She saw or sensed their presence and tried to change direction, but they were already on her.

He watched her raise her hands as her voice came through his headset. "You're FBI," she said, her voice quivering. "I guess I should have known you'd be here. Look, I'll come with you, but please, let me check on my mom first. Please..."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Alvarez said, edging to her side. As Kim's shoulders slumped in relief, his hand shot out and covered her mouth and nose with a soft white cloth. After the briefest of struggles Kim's body slipped into the two men's waiting arms. Seconds later, a brown van pulled to the curb near them; they hefted her inside before anyone around them noticed that something was amiss.

Nodding silent approval, Chambers brushed his knuckles over his lips. _One down, three to go._

xxx

Tyler scooted over to make room for Jay to join him on the bottom step of the long set of wooden stairs that led from the bluff to the beach.

"I used to love days like this," he said, "when the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds. On clear days the light reflecting off the ocean was so bright it hurt my eyes. This–" he stretched his arm toward the rolling gray-green waves, "is soothing."

"I know what you mean about blinding light. We didn't get many clouds in Southern California. The spring of my junior year in high school my buddies and I hung out at Bluff Park on the Pacific most Wednesdays. The ocean stretched out like a huge mirror."

"Wednesdays?"

"We played hooky," Jay admitted, blushing

Tyler feigned shock. "You, straight-laced, super-student Jason Burchell, skipped class?"

"It was another right of passage."

"You think you're close to someone, that you know everything about him," Tyler stared into the gray blur where the sky met the sea, "and then you find out you don't." He stretched his legs out as far as they would go while leaning against the step behind him. "Do you know what my dad told me? He said I was too weak to lead the family into the future. So why didn't he just disinherit me or something? Why did he have to...?"

"He's a bastard." Jay's voice was vehement. "And he's wrong about you. I can't see your father taking an armed police officer prisoner to save a friend, can you?"

"No, but..." Tyler was reluctant to admit his concern, afraid that it was a sign of the weakness that his father deplored, "why am I still worried about him?"

"Because you're a better man than he is. Why don't you check CNN? Maybe they'll have an update on his condition."

Tyler couldn't help but smile. "Have you looked around? There isn't a television, computer or even a radio in the house. When Gram came here, she wanted total peace and quiet."

Jay laughed. "I hadn't noticed. Your grandmother is quite the eccentric. But we aren't totally cut off; the car has a radio."

"I listened to it a bit when I was looking for the wetsuits. Do you know what the reporters are doing? They're examining our lives under microscopes. They've been interviewing anyone who knew us who would talk about us."

"And I bet I can guess who was eager to claim five minutes of fame. Massey."

"Yep. He's never forgiven us for the med school prank."

"Doug Kincade."

"He said he always thought there was something suspicious about our Sunday bike trips."

Jay groaned. "What about Gayle what's her name, the one who brought us cookies and brownies a couple of times a week for half a semester? She kept going back and forth between you and Will, but you both ignored her."

"You are so blind; it was you she was after," Tyler said.

"Me?"

"Trust me. I know of what I speak. When she fawned over Will or cuddled up to me, she was trying to get your attention. But you were too smitten with Kim to notice. If you don't believe me, ask Wi-" The name caught on Tyler's tongue, biting into his fond memories with the painful jab of a fishhook gauging into flesh.

"I forget, too," Jay said. "I know he's not the same person he was before, but I forget."

"Sometimes it's easier to forget than others." Tyler dug his heels into the sand. "There are moments when I don't even see a physical resemblance. That's such a weird feeling."

"He's still Will," Jay said. "I want this to work out."

"Yeah," Tyler said, his voice husky from a welling of raw emotion, "so do I."

xxx

Chambers tried to control his frustration as he spoke into the phone. "She won't be of any value to us out of the country. We need her here to lure our boys into the open."

From her elegant home in the suburbs of the nation's capital Rosalind Freed snorted in reply. "How would we do that? Put an advertisement in the newspaper? _The Fourth Branch has your girlfriend. If you'll turn yourselves in, she won't come to harm_."

"Well, no." Chambers recognized that communicating with the fugitives was a problem. "But as soon as they realize she's missing, they'll know we have her again. Then-" Chambers cut off, remembering what Traveler had done to free Kim the first time. "Whatever we decide, I want round-the-clock guards assigned to my daughter. Traveler has already used her to get Doherty once."

"Fred, what kind of monster do you think I am? I'd already planned to keep watch over Jessica. Now about Doherty, you will see that she gets on that plane. Once she's out of the country, we can soften her up. When she breaks, we'll bring her back and put her on television. You can bet at least Burchell will come running when she tells the world that the three of them are terrorists. Then we'll take them out, as you should have done days ago."

"Let's do it," Fred said with a sigh.

xxx

After spending forty-five minutes on a chair outside of the critical care unit, Jess was wondering if Amy hadn't been right. Maybe she didn't belong here. Gabriel Fog wasn't an abandoned animal who needed someone to find him a new home. He might prefer his privacy during this very troubled time.

She'd just about talked herself into leaving when one of the large double doors swung open and suddenly he was there, his brow furrowed with worry. Then he saw her and a smile spread across his face. "Jess! What are you doing here? Is..." he nodded back toward the closed doors, his voice sobering, "someone you know a patient here?"

"No," she said, getting to her feet. "I came to see you. Amy spotted your picture in today's paper, which is how I finally learned your last name. I owe you money, and I was concerned. I didn't even know if you'd remember me."

"Not remember my damsel in distress?" he said, grinning again. "Impossible."

Jess grinned back. "Well, for all I know, you have dozens of distressed damsels in your past."

"Only the one. It's good to see you. How's the dog rescue business?"

"Better than that night. I never did track down that border collie." Jess dug into her pocket and pulled out a check. "Here, this is for you."

Gabe waved his hand in refusal. "I can't take that. It was a gift."

"You have to." Striding up to him, she stuffed it in his hand.

"All right." He carefully folded it and tucked it into his wallet.

He'd given in too easily. It hit Jess that her check would never be deposited in a bank. "If you don't cash it," she warned him, "you'll hear from me again."

He laughed. "I think you better stick to damsel; ogre really isn't your style."

If nothing else, she'd managed to brighten his mood. And she could always find a way to return the money at a less stressful time. "Will you at least let me buy you a coffee?"

After glancing at his watch, he nodded. "But I can't visit for long. I'm scheduled to meet with my dad's doctor in twenty minutes."

"I'm sorry about what happened to him. And about your brother." Jess looked up into his pale blue eyes. "Before you have coffee with me there's something I need to tell you. It might make my company less appealing. My dad is Fred Chambers; he's the agent in charge of the Drexler investigation."

xxx

Jan Marlow dropped the heavy bag just inside the door to her apartment and headed straight to the refrigerator for a Diet Coke. There were days when the three flights of stairs to her floor felt like twenty. _But at least it helps to keep me in shape,_ she told herself.

She'd stopped at a bookstore on her way home and bought road atlases for Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Maine.

Her initial euphoria after talking to Stewart had dampened when she'd realized that the exit number might not be significant. It could have been a simple stop for gasoline or a meal. The only thing she knew for sure was that the three suspects had left Manhattan and were heading east in Connecticut.

They'd already passed the New Haven exit, but that didn't mean New Haven was out of the picture. It was close enough that some friend from the university might live in the vicinity of where Stewart had spotted them. Other possibilities included the Fog farmhouse to the north in Massachusetts and Deer Harbor, Maine. And she couldn't rule out Boston, or anywhere else, really.

She drained the Coke and snagged another before retrieving the bag and dumping the contents on her table. _Where are you?_ she wondered as she thumbed through the atlas that had landed on top. Her eyes blurred as she made note of the hundreds upon hundreds of roads in the one book alone.

Well, maybe she'd get lucky. It had happened before, when seemingly out of nowhere some esoteric connection had clicked in her brain. With that in mind, she selected the Connecticut atlas and began to study it carefully, hoping a town or route name would tickle her search antennae.

xxx

_Shivering in the fierce cold of the Afghan mountains, Will huddled behind rocks as deafening explosions thundered above him. Feeling a rough hand on his arm, he turned to see a familiar face looming over him. "You, Bishop," Sergeant Penn shouted to be heard over the cacophony of the bombardment, "don't let me see your NVG anywhere but on top of your helmet."_

_Bishop? It took Will a second to realize he was Bishop, first name Thomas. He didn't have time to sort out the confusion of the name; the towering figure next to him was waiting for a reply. "Yes, sir," he said, not bristling despite the stupidity of the man's words. Any idiot knew the light accompanying the bombs would be expanded to blinding shrillness if viewed through night goggles, but his uncle had warned him there would be moments like this._

"_You already know more than most of them could absorb during twenty years of combat," Uncle Dave had said, "but you listen to them. You're there to do a job, to serve your country, and that includes obeying your superiors."_

_To the sergeant Will was an unproven and unwanted commodity. He'd been added to their unit four days earlier. The rest of them had been together for months, and had endured intensive training for this specific mission for weeks. That Will had combat experience didn't matter; none of them knew about his previous assignments, which had been with different units, under different names. In the eyes of his current brothers in arms, he was a newcomer; he didn't belong. Period._

_He accepted their lack of enthusiasm; he felt the same. He didn't know which of them could be counted on to watch his back and which couldn't._

"_All right, let's move out," an authoritative voice shouted. The air assault had finally ceased, and it was time to advance. Will darted into a position near the head of the straggly line of weary troops. He ignored the glares and snarls from the men he'd cut in front of and concentrated on the route ahead, trusting his eyes to find anomalies that others might miss._

_They'd been chasing down a small band of Taliban for two days. Someone must have thought they were getting close and called in an air strike; maybe tonight they'd finally catch up with the fleeing guerillas. _

_The path they were following wasn't much more than a goat trail up the mountain. Rough to begin with, the scree created by the bombs made the going treacherous. As they climbed higher, each step became an effort. Will could feel the cold boiling from his bones as sweat soaked his brow..._

Swiping his hand over his dripping forehead, Will opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself surrounded by the framework of a room. Was it some kind of hallucination? He was in the White Mountains. And he wasn't yet Will Traveler. He was still trying to sort through the puzzle when the room blinked away.

_Whispers floating in the thin night air explained why the column had come to an abrupt stop. They weren't quite lost, but the guide and the translator were consulting over their position. Their voices grew louder as the conversation swelled into an argument. The guide insisted they were just below the ridge where the ambush would take place._

_Ambush? Will started, wondering why none of the men around him were reacting. The reason came to him a second later: he was the only one who had understood what the two Afghans were saying. He'd translated their exchange without giving it a second thought. _

_And now they were done speaking: they'd reached an agreement. The guide was waving his hand to get everyone moving again._

"_Don't go. Stay here," Will called out. Frantic, he pushed back through the men strung out behind him, desperate to find someone with the authority to call a halt to their advance. "Stop." After elbowing his way past three more marines, he reached a spot where the trail was so narrow only one person could get through at a time. Not wanting to wait for someone to give him the right of way, he scrambled over rocks and dropped down on the far side. _

"_Bishop, shut up." Will had never been so happy to hear the gruff voice of Sergeant Penn, who was struggling toward him. Reaching Will, he stopped and said,"Shut up or I'll shut you up."_

"_We're walking into a trap," Will told him. "We have to stop. Now."_

"_I knew you were a green runt, but I didn't know you were a coward. Suck it up, Bishop, because we are not turning back." Penn grabbed his arm and shook him. "Do you hear me?"_

_It was an effort for Will not to respond in kind; they didn't have much time. "I hear you, sir. But I also heard the guide and the translator; they're leading us into an ambush."_

_Something in his voice must have penetrated Penn's skepticism because the sergeant rapped his knuckles on the helmet of the soldier on the other side of Will. "Get up there and tell them I said to take a ten-minute break." Pushing Will against the side of the cliff, he barked, "How is it that you're the only one in a panic? Why don't I have four or five men running around as if bin Laden himself was biting them on the ass?"_

"_I was the only one who understood what they were saying."_

"_So now you're telling me that you speak Pashto?" _

"_That's not relevant, sir." Penn started to turn away. "Sir," Will called him back. "They weren't speaking Pashto. They were using Farsi." He wasn't supposed to reveal anything about his background or training, but what choice did he have? "I'm fluent in Farsi."_

_Spinning around, Penn leaned into Will. "Your story is getting wilder, Bishop. There's no way you'd be here if that was true. With command desperate for translators, you'd be assigned to some muckity-muck who never gets his shoes dirty as opposed to freezing your balls off in these fucking mountains."_

"_You have to listen to me," Will said. "Az mast ke bar mast. What happens to us is our own fault."_

_Penn's hand pressed harder on Will's chest as a loud clatter filled the night._

Will woke with a start, his heart thumping wildly. He looked around, expecting to see men scattering as bullets rained through the air. Instead, he saw the inside of a room, the room he thought had been a dream.

Afghanistan had been the dream. It hadn't been gunfire that had awakened him; it had been the clatter of something falling in the kitchen. He was in Tyler's grandmother's summer cottage.

As he eased into a sitting position, the door to the kitchen creaked open part way. Will's hand slid to the gun handle protruding from his holster. When Jay's head appeared in the gap, he let his arm drop back to his side.

"You're awake," Jay said. "Good. Dinner is just about ready. I fried up some pork chops. Tyler stuck potatoes in the oven and is attempting to toss a salad."

_Dinner?_ Will looked at his watch and discovered he'd slept for over four hours. Despite that, the only thing he was interested in was more sleep. "I'm not hungry. I'll get something later." The pillow surface was hot and damp; he flipped it over before sinking back into its softness

xxx

Jon Anselmo pulled the vibrating cell phone from his pocket, made note of the caller ID and immediately activated the connection. "Yes, sir."

"The FBI has no idea where they might be. How are you doing?"

"Not much better. There wasn't anything in the room that indicated where to find them." Jon heaved a sigh. "It's what I expected."

"I've got some of my people checking on the Doherty hit and run. That's too coincidental not to be connected, especially with Kim Doherty missing. No one has seen her since she was supposedly released from FBI custody after the incident at Fervor."

"Supposedly?"

"Why would they release her?" Mailer asked. "They had more than enough evidence to charge her."

"Maybe they hoped she'd lead them to Burchell. But she wasn't with him as of yesterday; he's worried about her. That was one of the reasons they went to see Gabriel Fog. Fog might be our best lead at the moment. They went to see him once; they might do it again. I'm trying to track him down. He's not at the hospital. I'm on my way to the penthouse to snoop around."

"That's an excellent idea. They might even have gone back there."

"We'll know soon," Anselmo assured him.

xxx

"We outdid ourselves," Tyler said as he mopped up pork chop juice with a hunk of garlic bread.

Jay began to gather the empty plates and serving dishes into a pile. "Why didn't we cook more often during our years at The Castle?"

"Because we had twenty takeout places within a three-mile radius," answered Tyler. "And because we weren't afraid to stick our noses out the door. Maybe we should add a chapter with recipes to your _On the Run_ bestseller."

"Who said it's going to be a bestseller?"

"Jay, Jay, Jay, who wouldn't want to read about the adventures of such gorgeously good looking and incredibly intrepid young men? I've already decided that I want Jake Gyllenhaal to play me in the movie adaptation."

"He looks more like me."

"It's just the dark hair that gives you that impression. If he lightens it a bit, we're dead ringers." Tyler picked up the utensils and carried them from the kitchen table to the sink. "As for you, Cameron Diaz would be perfect."

Jay grabbed the towel off the rack and swatted him. "Keep that up and I'm going to write you out of the book." He began to rinse off dishes as he continued, "This isn't fair. You know I can barely tell one actor from another. I wouldn't even go to movies if Kim weren't so fond of them."

"That's a good place to start," Tyler reasoned. "Who are Kim's favorites?"

"They're all too old: Russell Crowe, Denzel Washington, Alan Rickman."

"Then I'll have to do the casting." Tyler pondered what he'd seen in copies of _People_ that Kim had left at The Castle. The starlets came easily to mind, the men less readily. Finally, a suitable prospect presented itself: "Orlando Bloom."

"Not the fairy! Anyone but the fairy."

"He was an elf."

"Elf, fairy, it's all the same." Jay opened the dishwasher and stared at the inside as if he'd never seen one before. "This was always Will's job. How about I pass the dishes and you load?"

"I'll give it a try." Working with a minimum of awkwardness, they were soon down to a single item. "That wasn't so difficult," Tyler said as he squeezed the frying pan onto the bottom rack. Then he snapped his fingers as inspiration hit. "I've got it, Matt Damon."

"Bourne. Yeah, I like that. Here." Jay tossed him a wet dishcloth. "You wipe the table; I'll open a couple of beers."

"We are becoming so domesticated," Tyler said as he walked across the room. "It's almost enough to make me puke."

"Women love men with kitchen skills."

Tyler carefully brushed the crumbs and scraps into his hand. "Women also love men who can afford housekeepers."

Jay passed Tyler a Heinekin. "If Will is still sleeping, we could take these to that room at the top."

Tyler opened the door for a quick peek. "He's still sleeping, and he's got his hand wrapped around that gun he's wearing. We're definitely not sitting in there."

"He must have the safety on," Jay said.

"I'm not taking a chance." Tyler tipped the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. It was cooly refreshing all the way down, but it couldn't banish the nightmare that their lives had become.

"So... are we going upstairs?"

"First," Tyler reached over to switch off the overhead light, "we need to go through the house and close the drapes and shades. We won't be able to use lights in that top room, or any of the other rooms with exposed windows, which is most of this floor. It's getting dark. Locals expect the house to be empty. If they see lights, they might call the police."

"Good thinking," Jay said. "I'll be sure to include that in the book."

xxx

Scanning the elegant, darkish interior of the restaurant, Jess swept her hands over her jeans and cotton sweater while taking two steps back. "I don't think I'm dressed properly."

Gabriel kept his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from leaving. "It's fine. Leonardo DiCaprio had a do-rag on the last time I was here."

"DiCaprio eats here? Why have I never read about it in gossip columns?"

"_The Tattered Cuisine_ remains a closely guarded secret." Gabriel nodded to the maitre de. "Good evening, George, Could we have that table in the corner?"

"Of course, Mr. Fog." He led them to the table, held the chair for Jess, then handed them menus. "May I get you something from the bar?"

"Jess?"

"Umm... I don't usually drink on school nights."

"Two virgin mojitos, then," he glanced across the table, "if that sounds okay?"

"Perfect."

She peeked inside the menu and wasn't surprised to find it devoid of prices. You didn't eat at a place like this if cost was a consideration. This restaurant wasn't what she'd imagined when Gabriel had asked her to join him for a_ quiet little bite_. He was so genuine; it was easy to forget that he lived life on a much grander scale than she did.

"I'm really glad you could make it."

"So am I," she said, tucking her dismay into a mental envelope and sealing it shut. "Since our interview didn't run over, there was plenty of time for me to get here at the appointed hour." Spotting a waiter approaching, she hurriedly added, "Will you order for me? You know what's good here."

After he'd requested what sounded like enough food for four people, Gabriel said, "Tell me more about your project."

"Well, as I said earlier, it a film class. We divided into groups to do documentaries. Our group decided to talk to young people about why they came to New York. The criteria were simple: we wanted individuals who were less than thirty and who had lived here between one and two years. Not students, of course. After sorting through a couple of dozen prospects, we settled on four people for interviews. Today was the last, and it was my favorite. It was with a young woman from the Midwest. She always wanted to live in New York City, but couldn't afford it. Then she saw an ad for a bird sitter... But that's all I'm going to tell you, for now. I think we're going to have a fun film, and I'm going to send you a copy after we complete the edit."

"A bird sitter?"

"It's not-" Bonnie Tyler singing _I Need a Hero _burst out of Jess' backpack. She almost sent her drink flying as she twisted about to get the phone. "I've wanted to change that ring tone," she said, cringing and apologetic, "but I'm afraid it would hurt my dad's feelings." She pulled out the phone and switched it to mute.

"Shouldn't you answer it?" Gabe said.

"No," she said firmly. "He's been calling all day. He gets in these overly protective moods and there's no way to reason with him. We go through this about every four months." She returned the phone to her backpack. "He'll get over it in a day or two."

Gabe twirled his finger in his drink, looking ill at ease. It was the first time she'd seen him less than perfectly poised. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Is it my dad's connection to your family's problems?"

"In a way..." He looked steadily into her eyes. "You remember when you told me about your dad before we went for coffee? I should have given you the same opportunity to opt out on dinner. Don't get me wrong," he stretched a hand out, as if imploring her to understand, "I enjoy being with you. But right now I have so much on my mind. My brother is innocent, but I can't get your father to believe me." He pulled his hand back, sighing. "I had hoped you might tell me how to get through to him."

Hindsight told Jess that this awkward situation was exactly what Amy had tried to warn her about. But that was neither here nor there. Inserting as much conviction as she could muster into her voice, she said, "If your brother is innocent, my dad will figure that out. He's the best."

With Gabe looking like a dog who had just been dropped from a speeding car, she couldn't stop there. "Tell me about your brother. Is he as nice as you are?"

xxx

Tossing restlessly from side to side, Will slipped from sleep to wakefulness and back again, caught in a succession of turbulent dreams. It was as if he'd been invaded by a toxic weevil that was boring into his past and recycling him through some of his many lives.

Seven years earlier...

_Halfway up the one-hundred foot vertical cliff, Eric Ransom swayed slightly as he tilted his head back to scan the rock wall above him. With his feet jammed onto narrow ledges and the thumb and index finger of his right hand pinching a slight knob, he was in a stable position, but he couldn't see anything within reach that would allow him to climb higher. _

_A head poked out from the cliff top above him. "Come on, Eric," Uncle David called, "what's taking you so long?"_

_Eric's mouth was dry, making it difficult to answer even if he could have thought of something relevant to say. They'd been hiking through winding desert canyons for three days and two nights. But while Uncle Dave had been provisioned with a sleeping bag, food supply, and water, Eric had been expected to live off the land. There had been precious little in the way of shelter and only prickly pears for sustenance during the forced march. While the pears provided some moisture, it was never enough to satisfy the cravings of his body._

_It wasn't the first time his uncle had pushed Eric to his physical limitations and beyond. There had been several exercises when he'd been worked until he'd passed out. But to collapse here, on the face of a cliff with no belay system in place, would be fatal. _

_Eric transferred his weight to his skeletal system to allow his muscles to rest. His uncle had scaled the rock wall with ease. Of course, he was well nourished and hydrated. Eric was also beginning to suspect that he'd chosen this particular climb with his physical attributes in mind. Normally, Eric's light, lithe body was an advantage when rock climbing. But here, with knobs, ledges and niches few and far between, his uncle's greater reach served him well. _

I won't use that as an excuse,_ Eric told himself. He'd always been small for his age, and at sixteen he'd accepted that he was never going to catch up with strapping six footers, let alone his uncle. He'd learned to compensate by concentrating on his own strengths, including his agility and his determination._

_Eric angled his head back and studied the cliff again. When that didn't produce a solution to his dilemma, he looked left then right. And that's when he saw it, a niche that just about qualified as an alcove for someone his size. There were good handholds within easy reach. Better yet, just beyond the niche was a crack that looked like it might take him all the way to the top. _

_But there were no edges or nubs that would allow him to spider over to the alcove. And going back down with the hope of angling in that direction via a different route was out of the question. Right now, he was in shadow, the cliff itself standing between him and the ascending sun. But within an hour the sun would be overhead, in position to squeeze the last drops of moisture out of his body. _

_There was a way to reach the alcove, but he'd have to blatantly disregard what his uncle considered to be the primary rule of movement to do it. With his eyes focused on the niche Eric tightened his muscles into coiled masses of kinetic energy and jumped. _

_The cry that screeched from above barely registered on his consciousness. His total concentration was on the indentation in the rock. Both feet contacted it at the same time. His knees bent slightly to cushion the impact, then his fingers were reaching, searching. His left hand located a knob of rock. It was enough to steady him until he found a place to latch his right hand. _

_Then he was firmly in place. And seconds later he was dancing up the crack, ascending with more speed than he would have thought possible minutes earlier. _

_When he reached the top of the cliff, he rolled away from the edge and sprawled on his back, staring up into his uncle's frowning visage. "I did it." Sitting up, he met his uncle's scowl with one of his own. "You tried to kill me, but it didn't work."_

"_Whatever are you talking about?" Uncle David took Eric's arm and yanked him to his feet. "Let's get you into the shade. Here," he slammed his camelback into Eric's hand, "drink. You aren't making any sense."_

Abruptly, the dream broke away, leaving Will clinging to images that were almost as vivid as when he had lived them.

Except for the end of the dream. He didn't know where that had come from. The climb up the wall had been accurate in every detail, but he couldn't remember accusing his uncle of trying to kill him. He couldn't remember much of anything after reaching the top. There was a fleeting image of cool rock under a shadowed overhang and rays of sun reflecting off the medallion his uncle always wore. Then there was nothing. As much as he tried to reconnect long-ago synapses, his memory remained blank, not recalling anything until the drive home in the passenger's seat of his uncle's Range Rover. What had happened to those missing hours?

Struggling to his feet, Will put the question firmly behind him. He had enough to worry about in the present.

xxx

"I wonder how long it will take to clear our names?" Jay said.

Tyler hated to burst Jay's bubble, but he couldn't share his optimism. "Freed was our best bet. I don't think we're going to get a blatant confession a second time." He drained his beer, wishing he and Jay hadn't agreed to stop at two each.

"I know that. But we have a lot of leads. And like you said, we're very intrepid guys."

"That's true enough." Tyler gathered their empties and set them at the top of the stairs. The sky had cleared and the moon provided more than enough light to maneuver about the room. "I know someone who could probably clear us."

"Your father."

"One and the same. I should have thought to go through his papers when we were there the other night."

"Anything incriminating is going to be under lock and key."

"But there could still be clues that might point to someone or something. He knows a lot of important people." Tyler cocked his head, listening intently, and confirmed the indistinct clinking that wafted up the stairs. "That's the water pipes rattling. Will's awake. I'll show him where we put his share of the dinner."

"I'll come with you," Jay said around a huge yawn.

Tyler led the way down the spiral staircase that had replaced the steep stairs that provided access to the widow's walk. He slowed as he shuffled through the dark room below, finally pawing his way to the door to the hall. After both of them were through it, he shut the door, not wanting any stray light to curl up to the cupola at the top of the house. He found he didn't have to turn on the hall light because of brightness shining from the open door to the bathroom.

As he drew even with it, he saw Will sitting on the bathroom floor, his back against the tub. "Will?"

"Hey, Tyler," Will responded. Moving with the awkwardness of someone who had too much to drink, he struggled to his feet and leaned against the edge of the sink, grimacing. Still half bent over, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. When he finished, he straightened and faced them, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining as if lit by an internal flame.

"I'm going to crash," he told them.

"Do you need anything?" Jay asked from where he'd joined Tyler in the doorway.

"No." As Will walked toward them, they parted to let him through. "Remember what I said about waking me."

Tyler waited until Will was in the front bedroom before turning to Jay. "The last time I saw Will sitting on a bathroom floor was when he had the flu so bad he was puking his guts out."

"He wouldn't let us do anything for him then, either."

"So what _**do**_ we do?" Tyler asked, shaking his head with frustration.

Jay didn't look any happier than Tyler felt. "I wish I knew."

xxx

Frightened to near immobility, Kim couldn't even support her own weight as she was half carried and half dragged, down a steep set of stairs. "Please, please..." She heard the tear-filled pleading without realizing that she was the one speaking.

If she had been scared before, it didn't compare with the level of her terror now. Her memories were a jagged confusion that had become associated with drowning in her mind. It had seemed as if she were repeatedly swimming toward the surface only to feel a stinging prick on her arm that sent her plunging back into dark depths.

Until now...

The blindfold wrapped tightly about her eyes prevented her from seeing, but her other senses didn't share that impediment. She was aware of an oppressive, heavy heat that made her break into an instant sweat. An exotic smell, like a too strong perfume, filled her nostrils. She felt a sneeze building, but managed to hold it back, afraid that any sound would anger her captors.

At the bottom of the stairs, her feet bumped over what felt like rough ground. "Where am I?" she asked. "Where are you taking me?"

No one answered, and eventually her journey ended. She was released and pushed forward in one sharp motion. Staggering, she spread out her arms to steady herself and just managed to regain her balance. A clang behind her promted her to turn around.

_Alone? Had they left her alone? _

As she pulled off the blindfold, something ran over her right shoe. She screamed.

xxx

Slitting open the bedroom blinds, Jay was prepared to squint into the sun. But the fog was back and much thicker than the thin, scattered wisps of the day before. His watch told him what the murk refused to reveal: it was half past eight in the morning.

He wasn't sorry to have an excuse to abandon sleep. Time after time, throughout the night, he'd woken to a churning mind that made peaceful rest impossible. It was difficult to shed the harrowing desperation of the past week, and almost impossible to feel safe, even in this remote haven.

After a quick trip to the bathroom , he slipped into his jeans and padded quietly toward the stairs. With the doors to Tyler's and Will's rooms closed , he had no way of knowing if they were sleeping or up and about. He paused at Will's door and put his ear against its wooden surface, not sure what he expected to hear. Some sign that Will was on the mend? And if he wasn't...

Tyler's question from the night before haunted him. _What could they do?_

The first floor was as silent as the second. Since Jay had helped to unpack the groceries, he knew where to find the coffee. It took him a few minutes to figure out the fancy espresso machine, then hot water-at exactly the right temperature, according to coffee connoisseurs-was shooting over coffee grounds and filling his cup.

So much for Kim's claim that he couldn't even operate a toaster.

After topping his coffee with milk and sugar, Jay wandered into the combination living-family-dining room. Almost immediately, he spotted a sheet of paper on the table. It was folded in half and had his name scribbled on the outside. He was used to Tyler's handwriting, so he was able to decipher the short message without difficulty.

_Jay, I'm sorry, but I can't sit here and watch Will die._

_T._

end of episode five

**Note: Tomorrow, I leave on another vacation, so the next chapter might also be delayed. If it takes longer than a month, I'll try to remember to post updates to The Traveler Forum website Fan Fiction Traveler, Second Season. If any reader is interested in beta-reading upcoming chapters, please contact me. Beta readers tend to find problems and mistakes that I miss. **


	6. Chapter 6

TRAVELER, SEASON TWO

Episode 6: The Thorn, Part 2

(I want to thank chattypandagurl for her invaluable assistance and insight. She's a terrific beta-reader.)

_The thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished and pruned pricks more deeply and draws more blood. _Maya Angelou

Except for minimal seasonal variations, the view from the large picture window in Conrad Mailer's home gym remained the same. Most mornings he never even noticed the stark foothills displayed before him while the belt of the treadmill rolled beneath his feet. He was already focused on the demands of the day ahead, his attention turned inward, with the methodical pace of his mind mirroring the cadence of the machine as he executed his daily three miles. While the rest of his exercise routine varied, the walk remained the same. Over the course of a decade it had become as commonplace as brushing his teeth.

Some days, like today, the three miles went by in a flash. Without ever having noticed the change in tempo, he found he had completed the programmed cool-down period that ended the workout. It was time to switch off the treadmill. As he stepped off the machine, the muted sound of padded feet alerted him to the arrival of visitors. He turned toward the door as Mischa, his Russian Wolfhound, trotted into the room followed by the tall, chiseled figure of David Fancher. His trusted associate had a grim expression on his face.

Mailer didn't have to be a mind reader to decipher the reason behind his associate's mood. "You've not found him," he said as Mischa dropped to his haunches beside him. "Damn it to hell. We have sufficient resources to find a needle in a haystack the size of Wyoming, but we can't locate one man."

"Will is eminently resourceful," David said.

"Stephen," Mailer growled, his hand going to Mischa's head to quiet him before the Borzoi had time to react to the gruff tone. "His name is Stephen."

Anyone else would have cowered at the rebuke, but Fancher stood his ground. It was one of the reasons Mailer valued him.

Fancher's response was immediate. "Over the years it was essential that past identities were totally discarded to avoid the potential for confusion as new ones were put into place. That couldn't have happened if I hadn't embraced each change without reservation. To me, he's Will Traveler."

"I know." Mailer said, his mood swinging from angry to resigned. Crouching down, he intertwined his fingers through Mischa's soft, silken hair, finding solace in the familiar tactile sensation. "It's a difficult situation." He was used to being in total control, and while he wouldn't admit it to David, he was frustrated that this problem was taking so long to resolve.

"We'll find him," Fancher said, his voice hearty and confident.

"Or he'll find us," Mailer murmured, wondering what he was stirring up in his attempt to reach out to the man David knew as Will Traveler. He couldn't shake a feeling that suggested the mission had as much potential for disaster as triumph.

xxx

A thunderous clattering rattled Will's eardrums, drawing him from the depths of an exhausted slumber. His reorientation process was atypically sluggish, as if his brain was operating in slow motion. It took seven precious seconds for him to remember where he was –a front-facing bedroom in Tyler's grandmother's house– then five more seconds to identify the clatter as someone pounding up the stairs.

He barely had time to free the gun from the holster and release the safety before a tall, lanky figure burst through the door.

_Jay_.

Jay's hands darted into the air. "Hey," he called, stumbling slightly as he came to an abrupt halt.

Will probed behind and beyond him, but saw nothing, heard nothing that might explain Jay's explosive charge. "What's the matter?" He scooted up in the bed, pressing the pillow he'd been using into the headboard.

Jay seemed confused by the query, then, finally, answered. "Nothing."

"Nothing? So why the rush?"

"I... because…" Jay's eyes tracked the gun as Will slid it back into his shoulder holster. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything."

Will's eyebrows rose, but he didn't challenge Jay's explanation. He simply waited for the Boy Scout in Jay to surface.

Jay's mouth opened and closed several times before the words rattled off his tongue.

"Tyler took off–he left this." Jay unfolded his right fist, revealing a crushed slip of paper. He tossed it to Will, who snatched it from the air.

Will uncrumpled the paper and held it toward the faint light flowing through the window. The message was brief and surprisingly not a surprise. He should have anticipated the possibility and done something to prevent it.

_Five hours earlier..._

"_What's going on, Will?" Tyler's soft voice drifted into the confines of the small bathroom._

_Will spat out the water he'd been swishing around his mouth before turning to Tyler. "It's the middle of the night. This is not a good time for twenty questions. Could you be more specific?"_

"_This is at least the second time you've puked in three hours."_

"_I didn't know anyone was keeping count." _

"_It was that or sheep."_

"_What's the point of this?"_

_Tyler's eyes narrowed into stubborn slits. "You need a doctor. There's a small hospital about four miles from here. We--"_

"_No." He brushed past Tyler and crossed the hall to his room._

"_Will!"_

"_I said no." _

"It hadn't seemed as if I slept much," Jay was saying, maybe as much to himself as to Will. "But I didn't hear him leave. What about you? Weren't you keeping watch? Why didn't you stop him?"

Will shook his head. Pain, fever, and intermittent bouts of nausea had made the night feel a thousand years long. It was difficult to recall anything beyond the long stretch of misery. But he'd have heard the car, unless...

Near dawn –when his stomach had finally stopped heaving and he'd decided that the Porter was no longer a worry –he'd stumbled into the shower and stood under an icy rush of water for at least fifteen minutes. The water had felt like needle points against his wounds, but it had cooled him to the point where he could doze off.

"He must have left when I was in the shower." The mournful bellow of a foghorn drew Will's attention to the open window to his right. "You should leave, too."

"What? Why?"

He wasn't sure where to begin. A shudder of pain distracted him as he sent his hand to his side, shifting until he found a slightly more comfortable position. "It's like this," he said, "when...if Tyler gets caught, he's going to tell them where we are."

"He wouldn't do that."

"He won't have a choice. They'll trick him, torture him, threaten someone he loves, someone like his brother. You might not have much time. Walk into town. Steal a car. Get as far away as possible."

Jay hand chopped through the air in a dismissive gesture. "It's bad enough that Tyler's gone. Now you want us to split up? It's not going to happen. Even if I was inclined to take off, I wouldn't leave you here alone when you're all banged up. You're my friend."

The muscles in Will's jaw contracted, twisting his mouth into a sharp sneer. "You don't even know me."

"You're wrong about that." Jay's voice held a conviction that would serve him well in some future courtroom. "It doesn't matter that you lied to us or that you were pretending to be someone you weren't. I... we connected. That was real."

"People who think I'm someone I'm not tend to get hurt."

"We've been that route, and it damn well hurt. But that has nothing to do with now."

"It has every--"

"Whatever, Will," Jay cut him off. "I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. I'm going to try to figure out where Tyler went. You're both my friends, whether _you_ like it or not." Having completed his closing argument, he spun about and headed toward the door.

A tight knot formed in Will's chest. It wasn't quite as painful as getting shot in the side, but it came close. Jay should know better. If the Drexler hadn't been lesson enough, he knew what had happened to someone else who had misjudged Will Traveler.

_Twenty-six months earlier..._

_While he'd walked or biked by Maya's store many times during the two weeks he'd been living at her house in Deer Harbor, he'd never had reason to go inside. Until now. As he slipped through the glass-paned door, the gentle tinkle of a bell announced his entrance. At first no one responded, then Maya's voice sounded from deep within the store, "I'll be right with you." _

_As his eyes roamed the room, he could feel a smile spread across face. It was like walking into someone's personal library. Books with spines that had been worn smooth by loving hands filled open shelves and assorted bookcases. There were mismatched lamps, plastic shapes dangling from curtain rods, walls covered with eclectic oddities and even a winged gargoyle. Nothing appeared to go with anything else. But when viewed as a whole, it was an engaging, intimate setting that encouraged browsing._

_An enticing array of olfactory sensations added to the charm. The aroma of old books and spicy potpourri mingled with the scent of fresh-cut roses. Three blood-red blossoms spilled out of a glass bowl on the counter. They were from the bush in Maya's backyard, a bush he'd watched her water and prune, dust and feed._

"_It's you," Maya said as she entered the room. When she hadn't known who was in the store, her voice had been welcoming; now it was wary. While she'd been cooperative in terms of the assignment, it was clear that she didn't like having him around. Now he'd invaded the one place she'd been free of him. "What do you want?"_

"_I brought you something." He swung the canvas backpack off his shoulders and set it gently on the floor. After undoing the buckles, he pulled back the flap in one swift motion. A whirling ball of black burst out of the knapsack and darted into the far room. _

"_Mr. Mudge!" Maya's cry was joyful. "But why –how...?"_

"_I heard you calling him this morning."_

"_He didn't come to eat. He never misses breakfast." She paused and swallowed. "There were wolf sightings in the area and I was afraid…afraid something had happened."_

"_He was caught in the window well on the east side of your house." Will rushed out the words, uncomfortably aware that Maya's emotions were close to spilling out in the form of tears. _

"_In the window well." Maya swiped her sleeve over her eyes. "I called and called. He never so much as mewed in response. I could have helped him."_

"_From what I've seen, Mudge likes to solve his own problems."_

_A quick smile spread over her face. "He does. He's too independent for his own good. When I first saw him, he was a smudge of undernourished skin and bones lurking under the lilac bush. But he wouldn't eat the food I set out until I moved it to the far back of the yard. It took a year of sliding the bowl closer and closer to get him to the patio. He still won't let me touch him." She canted her head to the side. "Speaking of which, how did you get him out?"_

"_It wasn't easy." He rolled up his sleeve to display the scratches on his right arm. "But I had a few pounds on him."_

_She said softly, "He hurt you. I'll get the first-aid--"_

_He held out his hand to stop her. "That's not necessary. He didn't even break the skin." He nodded to the far room. "I better fetch the furball before he decides to tear your store apart. I just brought him by so you'd know he was okay."_

_Before he could move, she reached for his wrist, brushing her fingers over it so lightly he wasn't sure she'd actually made contact. But for that instant, it was as if she was gripping him with a hand made of steel. He found himself locked to the floor as she touched his arm a second time and said, "You're a good man, Daniel Taft."_

Good man.

Friend.

Will shook off Maya's and Jay's words and everything they implied. He prompted his body to move and inched sideways until he reached the edge of the bed.

Tyler was gone. Jay was staying. That didn't leave him with many options.

With resolute determination, he swung his legs off the bed.

xxx

Marlow paced her small apartment, a coffee mug in one hand, a bagel with cream cheese in the other. She'd picked them up at the corner deli, hoping the short walk would reboot her brain. It hadn't, and she simply couldn't bear the thought of spending another day going back and forth between road atlases and her computer, trying to make something out of nothing.

Stewart's sighting of Nightingale, which had seemed a promising lead the day before, hadn't panned out. Maybe she should pursue a different line of research. But her gut instinct wouldn't let go of the image of Fog, Burchell and Traveler standing beside a car on the berm of route 95. Why? Why was that seemingly more important than something else, such as following up on Joseph Langdon or Fallbrook-Dunn?

Then it came to her. She knew why she couldn't set aside Stewart's report.

Every time Fog or Burchell had been spotted, she'd set off like a bloodhound in pursuit: upstate New York, New Haven, Boston. She'd been to each of those places, and it had helped her connect to their thinking processes. Each trip had provided a degree of insight she couldn't have achieved from the confines of her office.

Cramming the rest of the bagel into her mouth, she grabbed her briefcase and purse and hurried out of the apartment. If she didn't hit traffic delays, she could be at the designated exit close to the time they'd been seen the day before, which made it likely that the same shifts would be on duty at nearby gas stations, restaurants, and convenience stores. Maybe someone would remember them. She'd pass around pictures –well, maybe not the one of Traveler she wasn't supposed to have– and keep her fingers crossed.

xxx

Jay was pouring a fresh cup of coffee when the squeak of floor boards in the hallway told him that Will had followed him downstairs. He waited until Will entered the kitchen to point to the pot and ask, "Would you like some?"

"No." Will filled a glass at the sink and took two sips before asking, "Do you know if Tyler found wetsuits?"

"Two. They're in the laundry room." He nodded to the door on the east side of the kitchen that led to a laundry area and a lavatory.

While Will went to check out the suits, Jay retrieved his wheat toast and slathered a thick layer of chunky peanut butter on top of both pieces.

"It's better than I expected," Will said on his return. "We've got full suits, masks, snorkels, and fins. That will give us an out if we need it."

He circled the kitchen, rummaging through drawers, cabinets and cupboards, pulling out items here and there and setting them on the counter by the stove. After he'd inspected every nook and cranny, he began to organize his acquisitions. He made two piles of granola bars, candy and raisins and tucked them into zip lock bags. "Supplies," he explained, adding books of matches to the bags. "If we have to make a quick exit, we'll want to keep a low profile until we're out of the area, which means no food stops, and we might want to build a fire to dry off." He glanced briefly at Jay. "I bought flashlights and batteries when I was at the grocery. Do you know where they are?"

"Over there. We never unpacked them." Jay retrieved the bag from the bench by the sliding glass door, but he didn't hand it over. He was tired of Will dictating their every course of action.

Jay braced himself, throwing his shoulders back and raising his head a little higher. "We need to find Tyler."

Will paused and favored him with an exasperated frown. "How, Jay? Should we pin a map to the wall and throw magic darts at it? Look," he said, his face softening slightly, "finding Tyler would be great. But it's a luxury. It can't be our number one priority."

"What is our priority?"

"Survival," Will said simply. "We need to be ready to take off in a hurry. That means gathering gear and supplies and stowing them on the beach." He took the bag from Jay and began to transfer the contents to more zippered bags.

Jay hovered at his shoulder. "I'm not blind, Will. You're the one with skewed logic. You aren't in any shape to make a getaway by sea."

"Until someone is shoveling dirt on top of me, I'll do whatever–" His voice cut off as he bent forward and braced his hands on the counter.

"That's exactly what I mean," Jay said. "Where are your pain pills?"

"I can't...take them." Gradually, Will's face lost its tortured look. He released air from his lungs, then twisted around so he was leaning against the counter. "My stomach doesn't like the diet of chemical cocktails I've been feeding it, so I have to lay off meds and concentrate on keeping water down. Pain doesn't kill; dehydration does. Like I said, it's all about priorities."

"All right," Jay said, stepping away and giving Will space to continue his methodical preparations. His movements were so smooth and efficient –never taking an unnecessary step, or so it appeared to Jay– that he might have been performing a choreographed dance, a dance designed to enhance survival.

Will disappeared for a few minutes and returned with bundles of clothes for each of them. Anything that fit in gallon bags was zip locked closed. The other items were put into white trash bags sealed with rubber bands. Eventually, everything was packed in plastic and tucked into two medium-size backpacks. Will put the packs in large garbage bags and carried them into the laundry, returning some five minutes later with two bulging black bags. As he half dragged, half carried them to the patio door, Jay stepped in front of him and took them from his hands.

"I'll get them to the beach," Jay said.

"The steps are going to be tricky in the fog."

"I can manage."

Will nodded. "I'll get rope. You'll need to secure the bags to the stair posts, and maybe put some heavy rocks on them. We don't want them carried away by an unexpectedly high tide."

"I'll be careful. Where's the rope?"

"I saw some in the storage bin on the deck."

"I'll take care of it."

"Okay," Will said, "okay."

He didn't seem to be entirely comfortable with leaving the job to someone else, but Jay didn't think it was because he didn't trust him to do it right. It was something more basic, maybe an inability to delegate and share responsibility, or lack of experience with the same. It wasn't much, but it was some insight into how the real Will's mind worked. Jay wondered if that was going to be the only ray of promise in what was otherwise turning out to be a dark and gloomy day.

xxx

As the large clock on the wall ticked away Fred Chambers began to second guess himself. He shouldn't have let Rosalind Freed bully him into sending Kim Doherty out of the country. Not because Doherty deserved gentle treatment, but because of how Traveler might react. If he'd threatened Jessie when Kim had been merely missing, what would he do now? What might he already be doing?

Fred Chambers thumped his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the coffee mug sitting in front of him. It was already fifteen minutes past the time he'd asked Jessie to meet him for breakfast. He knew her first class wasn't until eleven, so where was she? He'd texted the request last night. She'd had plenty of time to respond if she couldn't make it.

Glancing to his left, Chambers nodded nervously to the man in the blue jacket, who was nursing his own cup of coffee while leaning on the counter that looked out onto the street. The man brushed his hand Chambers' way to acknowledge he wouldn't be going anywhere until the assignment was completed, or Chambers gave him new orders.

Gary Rutherford was in his mid-thirties, though his prematurely gray hair tended to give the impression of someone older. He was a former FBI agent who had been recruited to Hometown soon after its conception and kept on a private payroll to do covert work for Jack Freed after it was disbanded.

Rutherford and three others, two of whom were also well known to Chambers, would watch over Jessie as soon as they found her. She'd left the dorm before they got there at dawn. Now the plan was to start surveillance after this morning's breakfast.

After another check of the time told him that five more minutes had passed, Chambers closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "Dammit."

"Hey, Dad, what's with the language?" a familiar voice asked. Seconds later, Jessie pecked a kiss to his cheek before sliding into the far side of the booth.

"You weren't supposed to hear that." Worry evaporated and a wide smile spread across his face. The sight of his beautiful, bright, talented daughter was enough to chase the fiercest storm clouds from his mind. So what if the Drexler had turned into a monumental migraine? Jessie was here, her hand reaching across the table to smooth over his fingers.

"That's more like it," she said, responding to his smile. "I'm sorry I didn't take your calls yesterday and I'm sorry I'm late. I know how much you worry about me. I just wish you wouldn't."

"Impossible." He twisted his hand so that he could take hold of hers. "You are the heart and soul of my existence. Without you, life would have no meaning."

Her green eyes flashed disapproval. "Don't say that. It frightens me. What if I do something wrong? What if I disappoint you?"

"Maybe I exaggerated." He released her hand, picked up his mug and held it in the air. "Coffee –_good _coffee, that's the true essence of life."

"Oh, Daddy," she said, causing his heart to just about stop beating. She hardly ever called him _Daddy_ anymore, and each rare occurrence was as valuable as a priceless gem. "Now you're just being silly. Did I ever tell you that you're the best stand-up comedian father in town?"

"You haven't, but it's a title I'll wear with pride."

"So, other than food," she said, flipping through the menu, "why are we having breakfast on a work day?"

"Because I needed a break from this case. It's become an obsession, and that isn't good. I can't see the bigger picture for the trees. A change of scenery was in order."

"Well, there's not much to see here." Her voice was teasing as she went through the motions of looking around the restaurant that was small even by New York standards. There was a niche where you placed orders, three booths, and the stand-along counter against the front wall. "How did you pick this place?"

"O'Malley said the blueberry pancakes are to die for."

"Blueberry pancakes." Jessie faked a groan. "That's cruel and unusual even by your standards. You know that's the one indulgence I can never resist. You may as well place a double order for me, and get a side of whipped cream."

xxx

Jay sat at the table in the corner and stared out at the fog-covered deck. Two feet past the window, the faint outline of a recliner was just beginning to take shape. It was more than he'd been able to see a half hour earlier, but the mist was still a thick shroud that left him feeling isolated from the rest of the world.

That wasn't an entirely bad thing when you didn't want to be found. But it wasn't a good thing when you were intent on finding.

"Where would Tyler go for help?" Jay asked, raising his voice so the question would carry to where Will was sprawled on an oversized chair with matching ottoman. Jay had found him there when he returned from the beach.

"His father. His brother."

"Well, his father is out, and I think he knows they'll be keeping a close eye on Gabe." Jay tapped his pencil on the tablet in front of him. "Not back to Nell's. Can you think of any other women he dated for longer than two weeks?"

"Not while we were at Yale." Will stretched out his arm and picked up the glass from the side table. He was working his way through the glass of water slowly but diligently. "There was someone he mentioned a couple of times. Jane, Jan, something like that."

"Jan Carlisle. He dated her, off and on, during high school and college. But she got married. I remember when he got the invitation."

Will folded his arms over his stomach, his hands rubbing his forearms as if to distract his body from an area of discomfort. "Did you write down Otis Whaley?"

"Yes." Jay had been taking notes as Will came up with lists of people, facts, events, and places that might help them track the Fourth Branch. "You saw him at the park; he was part of Hometown."

"That's right."

"Do you need anything?"

"No." Will's eyes fluttered open. "It's not that bad, Jay –stop worrying. Tyler panicked; you know how he'd work himself into a frenzy. Like with Nell. He formed an opinion and never gave her a chance to defend herself."

"That's it!"

"You just said he wouldn't go to Nell, that you'd already been there, that the FBI was questioning her."

"Not Nell. While we were at school, whenever Tyler had problems or gripes or was feeling down, where did he go to vent?"

"At Yale?" Will thought about it, then shrugged. "The Castle. But he knows better than to go there."

"It wasn't The Castle." Jay rose slowly to his feet, smiling. "It wasn't the building that provided a sympathetic shoulder. He brought his problems to us. We said it all the time –we were closer than brothers. Whatever is going on with Tyler, he wouldn't run out on us. He's coming back. I know he is."

xxx

Tyler's plan was sketchy and not without risk, but he didn't feel he had time to come up with something better. He hadn't been able to stand by while Jay had been taken into FBI custody behind Club Fervor, and he couldn't stand by and watch Will get sicker by the hour.

It was easy enough to execute the first part of his plan: put distance between himself and the cottage. He'd driven north-northeast for approximately two hours before cruising around a mid-sized town until he'd spotted a pay phone in the parking lot of a convenience store. He sat in the car for five minutes before he got up the nerve to leave the security of the SUV.

Keeping his back to the parking lot and street, he dialed a number from memory. It rang three times before the line clicked open. There was a stretch of silence, then the familiar voice of the Porter said, "Yes?"

"This is Tyler Fog."

"Fog... I'm glad to hear from you. Where are you?"

"No way," Tyler said. "I'm going to give you a chance to back up your words. We could use some help. Are you interested?"

"Tell me what you want."

"Drugs. We need drugs," Tyler rattled out. "Antibiotics. Something that doesn't upset stomachs. He has pills, but he's not keeping them down."

"Slow down. Start at the beginning. Is someone ill?"

"He was shot," Tyler said, switching the phone to his right hand when it threatened to slip out of his sweaty left one. "The wound's infected. I don't know what to do."

"I have connections. I can get you medical help: a doctor, a private hospital. Just tell me where you are."

"No. If you have connections, then you should be able to get the drugs. Take them to my brother, Gabriel Fog. He's either at the hospital with our dad or at the penthouse."

"I can find him, but--"

"Get them to him by noon. And don't even think about planting one of your tracking devices in the package or you'll never hear from us again."

"Listen, Fog. You need a doctor. You can trust me."

Tyler barked out a laugh. "Trust you? The guy who used us to find Will? No way. You want our trust, you earn it. You want something from Will, then you better get those drugs."

Tyler cut the connection and sank onto the small seat. His arms were shaking, his legs were limp, but he'd done it. He'd completed step one of his plan to help Will. Now, as much as he didn't want to involve Gabe, he didn't feel he had a choice. While driving around in search of a phone, he'd spotted a coffee shop that offered Internet access. That would be his next stop.

xxx

"Good boy," Mailer said as Mischa caught the stick he'd thrown. "Bring it here."

Seated near him on the patio, David uncrossed his legs. "Borzoi tend to be stupid. You've done a good job with him."

Mailer took hold of the stick, arced his arm back and tossed it far out into the yard. Mischa yelped and set off after it, sliding under it just before it hit the ground. Drool spilled from his mouth as he pounded back to his owner.

"It's simply a matter of training," Mailer said. He gestured for Mischa to drop the stick at his feet. Mischa's eyes darkened with disappointment –he knew that meant playtime was over– but he obeyed without hesitation. "If you provide –" He cut off as his cell phone twittered; it was a programmed ring that Mailer immediately identified.

"It's Jon." Two swift steps took him to where the phone rested on a stone table. He activated the speaker function as he answered. "Yes?"

"I just got a call from Tyler Fog."

"Where is he?"

"He wouldn't say, but the number appeared on my phone. I was able to track it to a pay phone in a small town in east central Massachusetts. But he'll leave the area before we can get there; he's adapting to life on the run."

"Are you sure?" Mailer nodded to David. "You wouldn't have to check it out. I could have a team there –"

"There's something we have to take care of first," Jon said. "Fog wants drugs, antibiotics. The FBI thought one of them was hurt..."

"I remember." Mailer dropped into a chair next to the table, knowing what was coming next.

"One of them was shot. I can't be positive –Fog might have been deliberately misleading me– but it sounds like it was Traveler."

"Massachusetts..." Mailer floundered as his brain went uncharacteristically blank.

"Williams," David cut in. "The clinic in Springfield."

"Thank you. Jon, did you hear that? He can get treatment in Springfield."

"Yes, sir. I knew you'd have a medical resource, but Fog refused the offer. He just wants antibiotics. I thought about it while I called you. We should give him more than that, whatever your medical contact thinks might be of help. And include a number they can call."

"David?" Mailer turned to his associate.

"He's right. We can't force them to bring him in. But, Jon, we'll want you to follow Fog when you make the transfer."

"I assumed as much. I'm to deliver the drugs to his brother by noon."

Mailer took a deep breath and found his command of the situation returning. "Jon, you're still in New York, I presume."

"Yes, sir."

"Then we'll use Brandon Morris. He's an internist with an office on Park Avenue. I'll have David text you the address and phone. I'll let Morris know to expect you, and I'll tell him to err on the side of excess."

After disconnecting the call Mailer got his feet, wondering, "Maybe I need to bring in more help."

"Additional personnel will clutter the landscape," David said. "We've already talked about this. When it comes to covert assignments, Anselmo's the best. The proof is evident. He tracked Will, which even the FBI with all of its resources failed to do." David took the time to intertwine his fingers before continuing. "There's another consideration: Rosalind Freed."

"You're right. If we expand the operation, Rosalind is bound to get wind of it. That puts the organization at risk as well as my personal plans." Mailer started toward the open French doors. "Let's go to my office; I've been so consumed with this dilemma that I've been neglecting other projects."

"You never did return Callahan's call. He phoned about a delayed lumber delivery a week ago. I think you might want to visit the site in person."

"Check my schedule," Mailer said, as he mentally reviewed the shopping center project in his mind. "There was also some question about easement in regard to the parking garage. I don't know if that was ever resolved. You get the file while I call Morris."

xxx

Rosalind Freed held her hands to the light, admiring the French tips that adorned her nails. Her manicurist never failed to please, but she'd excelled her own high standard this morning. The polish job was flawless.

Tapping the intercom open, she told her assistant, "Double the tip."

"Yes, ma'am. You have a call. I was just about to buzz you. It's Mr. Rutherford."

"Put it through."

"Mrs. Freed, this is Gary Rutherford. I just wanted to let you know that we've initiated surveillance. But I have one question."

"Yes?"

"If any of the subjects turn up...well, we might have to choose between protecting Miss Chambers and getting them."

"Do you remember what my instructions were when I gave you this assignment?"

"Yes. We're to... er, to take care of Traveler, Fog, and Burchell."

"Then that should be your only concern. Bait is merely a means to catch fish. Are you clear on that?"

"Yes, Mrs. Freed."

xxx

After heaving himself from the soft chair that the hospital staff had brought to his father's room earlier that morning, Gabriel Fog stretched his arms in the air. His body was stiff from hours of sitting. With his father heavily sedated most hours of the day, Gabe found himself growing increasingly bored and restless.

One of the reasons he'd gone to West Point was because a sedentary lifestyle didn't appeal to him. It hadn't when he was seventeen, and it didn't now. At least he had a late lunch scheduled with Jess to break the monotony. She was saving his sanity during these mad times.

The walls closed in on him as he paced the small room from south to north and back again. He needed to get outside, if only for a short break. It would give him a chance to check email and phone messages.

Even here, deep in the city, the crisp, clean feel of autumn was in the air. Gabe sat on a bench in the small park across from the hospital and watched the clouds drift overhead. If his Blackberry hadn't whirred with an incoming message alert, he might have forgotten the excuse he'd come up with to justify this escape.

Activating his email, he frowned over the address on the newest message. Youboy at a generic email provider. He was about to delete it unread when a memory clicked in his mind. "You, boy." That was how Carlton addressed Tyler when he was upset with him. The subject line was a second jolt from the past: _Neverland_. He and Tyler had built a fort on a small island in a Minnesota lake the summer they'd spent with their mother several years after the divorce. It was the last time they'd been with her for any significant amount of time. He and Tyler had called the island _Neverland_.

_Tyler! _

Gabe clicked open the email. To an unknowing eye, it would be nothing but gossipy nonsense. But it was their old code, the first letter of the first word and every third word after that spelled out the true message. _Parker went to Arizona with Allie, _the message began. It took less than a minute to decipher the entire thing. _Package to you before noon. Take it to Gram. Use stealth. _

_Before noon_... Noon was less two hours away. It was lucky he had decided to check his email. Who was delivering the package? How would they know where to find him? He could only assume Tyler had worked that out based on the expectation that he'd be here, at the hospital, with their father.

_Deliver it to Gram..._ She was in a private care facility half way between New York City and New Haven.

_Use stealth..._ That was easier said than done. The agent had all but announced "I'm FBI and I'm tailing you," when he'd shown up at Carlton's room this morning. Gabe was sure there were other, less obvious, agents backing him up. He was being closely watched, as might be expected after Tyler's visit.

But Tyler needed him, needed something. He wasn't going to let him down.

xxx

Kim huddled in a corner of the small, low-ceilinged hut, trying to shrink herself into as small a target as possible. With her knees to her chest, and her arms wrapped around her legs, she felt slightly less exposed, slightly less vulnerable. She wasn't sure how many creatures shared her dirt-floor prison; insects, flying and crawling, continuously assaulted her. Something larger–a mouse, she hoped, but possibly a rat–had run over her left foot shortly after she'd been shoved into the room. Rustling in the far corner suggested it was still around.

_It's only a rodent_, she told herself, trying to recall her childhood friend Allison's pet gerbils. They'd been adorable, running on their stationary wheel and scuttling through the tunnels of their elaborate, multistoried habitat. A mouse, even a rat, was just another small animal.

So why was she shaking? Because she had more to fear than a small intruder. Someone had kidnapped her and brought her far from home. The hot air, heavy with humidity, told her she was wasn't anywhere near New York, where cooling fall temperatures prevailed.

She couldn't begin to guess where she was. Florida? Guantanamo Bay?

No that had to be wrong. She'd been drugged. Her mind wasn't working right. She was still in Manhattan. Someone would find her.

Will? He'd rescued her before, but he'd also had blood on his shirt. And even if he was physically up to the task, she didn't feel she could count on him. He'd already betrayed them once; she didn't trust that he wouldn't do it again.

It wasn't fair. She'd tried to talk Jay into turning himself in, which had led to him contacting the FBI. If that had only worked out, this nightmare would be over. But Tyler had called and everything had gone horribly wrong.

Her shoulders began to shake harder as a new welling of moisture spilled from her eyes. She squeezed them shut and forced the tears to stop. She couldn't succumb to self pity. She couldn't.

At least morning had relieved the total darkness that had made her prison feel like a tomb. While the building didn't have any windows, there were small gaps between some of the boards that allowed tiny speckles of light to filter through.

Flipping over onto hands and knees, she began to crawl around the circumference of she shed. The walls were made of some kind of rough wood. She touched them with care, aware of the jagged splinters protruding from the boards. After passing another corner, she came to the door, which seemed to be the same material as the rest of the building. She stood and explored it more thoroughly. The hinges were on the outside. That was a disappointment. She'd seen a movie once, where a man had managed to remove the hinges to get out of a locked room. She continued along the wall until she contacted something low to the floor. Crouching down, she found two buckets. One was empty; the other held some kind of liquid.

She was so thirsty. She hadn't let herself think about it, but now…she swirled her hand in the tepid liquid. There didn't seem to be anything else in the bucket. She leaned over it and inhaled deeply. No smell, foul or otherwise, was detectable.

With a small cry that was part relief and part desperation, she picked up the bucket and tipped it to her lips.

xxx

The fire burning inside of him seemed to be getting brighter. Whenever Will closed his eyes, the heat manifested itself as a golden orb that swayed, to and fro, on the inside of his eyelids. It was accompanied by a soft, soothing voice that sounded a lot like his uncle. But his uncle wasn't here. Will didn't know where he was. He hadn't seen him since that day in Baghdad, when they'd met at a restaurant in the Green Zone. They'd shared a small, outdoor table that was shaded by a bright awning.

_Three years earlier..._

"_This is for you__.__" Uncle David handed him an airline ticket. It was for a flight out that evening, connecting through Amsterdam and ending up at Dulles. It was issued to Brian Jennings, which was the name on the passport in the breast pocket of his uniform. _

"_I don't understand." The days and weeks had begun to run together months earlier. As he'd transferred from unit to unit, he'd begun to think he'd spend the rest of his life in this dusty, dry, war-torn country. "We haven't won."_

"_I have a more important assignment for you," David said. "We need you in Washington. Your country needs you." Will listened carefully, while sipping the hot, local tea that he'd come to appreciate even when the air temperature was close to boiling. "You're going home."_

_He wanted to say that he didn't have a home; didn't know if he had ever had a home. But his uncle had little patience for irrelevancy. "What will I be doing?" _

"_This man," David said, passing him a business card, "will explain everything."_

_He read the name on the card. It was familiar, very familiar, but it still took him a minute to place it. "He's FBI."_

"_Not anymore." Fancher climbed to his feet and stuck out his hand. "I've recommended you for a new organization he's heading. I know you won't let me, or your country, down." Walking away, he melted into the crowd with surprising ease for someone who typically stood head and shoulders above everyone around him._

"Fancher," Will said. "Put David Fancher on the list." When Jay didn't answer, he looked around and saw that he was alone in the room.

"Were you calling me?" Jay asked, entering through the wide arched opening that led to the front hall.

"I've got another name for the list. David Fancher."

Jay trotted over to the table and jotted it down. "Who is he?"

"He is... was... he was the person who sent me to work for Jack Freed."

xxx

Gabe slid into the seat across from Jess. "Sorry that I'm late."

"It's okay. I've been tardy myself today."

"Good," he said.

_Good?_ He didn't even hear what I said, Jess realized. She wasn't upset though; she knew he had a lot on his mind. "How's your father?" she asked, fearing the worst.

"Uh... my father. He's... uh... about the same. They said that's good."

"Then what's the matter? You're a million miles away. We don't have to have lunch." She smiled, trying to coax a smile in return, but he simply sat there with the same troubled expression darkening his face. "Gabe?"

"I had to wait for something, a delivery. It was late; that's why I was late. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should..." He half stood up, then sat back down again. "Oh god, Jess, I hate to do this. But I need a favor, a really big one, and I'm not sure who else I can ask. I was going to ask Brenda, our housekeeper, but she's not answering her phone. And it really has to be –"

"Hey," she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. "Of course I'll help. Just tell me what you need."

"But it's something that should be taken care as soon as possible, and I know you probably have classes. And it's a really, really big favor."

"I cut classes all the time. Now what's the big favor?"

"I have something I have to get to my grandmother. She's in a nursing home in Connecticut. I'll give you money to rent a car."

"No problem."

"Really?"

Gabe looked so relieved that Jess couldn't help but tease, "It's not as if you're asking me for a kidney."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "That's true. I just didn't... I don't know. Things are crazy."

"That's what friends are for, to help each other out. Look, let's skip lunch. I'm still stuffed from breakfast. That will give me more time in case I get lost."

"I'll get you a car with a GPS." Gabe whipped his phone out of his pocket. "I'm going to order the car, then I'll have Dad's chauffeur take us to the rental agency. I left the package in the limo. I thought about having Charlie deliver it, but..."

"You don't have to explain. I'm happy to be of assistance."

xxx

"Help me," Kim moaned, pressing her hands to her lower abdomen. The cramping was getting worse. It must have been the water. She shouldn't have drunk it. The taste was off. It might have been sitting in that bucket for a year. It might have been something other than water. But she'd been so thirsty.

"Please. Someone, help me," she called. "Please."

xxx

Gabriel Fog seemed to be a nice enough young man. However, that and all of the Fog fortune wouldn't get him very far in the espionage business.

He'd had the right idea, getting someone else to deliver the drugs. But he hadn't tried to disguise the brown satchel in any way. So when the girl got out of the limo carrying the bag Jon had sent to Fog via a delivery man, it was easy to figure out what had happened.

Unless Fog was more diabolical than Jon was giving him credit for. He might have removed the drugs and sent the girl off with the satchel as a decoy.

_Heads. Tails. _Anselmo was counting on heads and the likelihood that Fog was every bit as naive as he believed him to be.

xxx

Marlow had driven to the exit. She'd found faint tire marks that likely belonged to the fugitives' vehicle. Saw scuff marks where their feet had probably contacted the packed dirt. She'd shown pictures of Fog and Burchell at every gas station, restaurant and convenience store for a mile down the road on both sides of the exit. And turned up nothing.

Her hopes had been raised only once, at a small market attached to a gas station. After looking at the pictures, the clerk had temporarily lost his ability to speak. "Th... th... that's."

It was clear that he'd recognized the now notorious faces. "Did you see them?" Chambers had asked, her excitement transferring to her voice.

"Th–those are the Dr... Drexler suspects," he'd finally spit out.

"Did you see them?"

"Sure," he'd answered. "On television. And in the newspaper. Their pictures are everywhere."

Marlow had been so vexed she'd stormed out of the building without so much as a goodbye.

There was nothing to it but to return to Manhattan and painstaking, basic research. But first she needed to appease her empty stomach. With that in mind she looked around. She'd been driving south without paying attention to where she was going, letting her frustration stew and vent while she was on a relatively quiet road. Now she found herself in a quaint town with charming shops that no doubt housed expensive boutiques. It was too close to the water to be anything else.

Spotting a tea room, she almost ruled it out. It wasn't as if she were collecting per diem this trip, and it was probably as pricey as the local stores. But a growl from her stomach changed her mind. She jerked the car into the first available parking slot, fed the meter and headed back to the restaurant.

She entered a claustrophobic nightmare of Victorian excess. Tiny tables covered in chintz and toile filled the small room. And there were more flowers than one might find at the Rose Bowl parade. But not real ones. They were painted on china, printed on fabric napkins, and clumped on the paper on the walls.

She gritted her teeth and continued into the room, waved forward by a woman who had to be the hostess. She was wearing a flowered dress and a flowered apron, after all. "How is this?" the woman asked, pointing to a table.

It was past lunchtime, and the restaurant was almost empty, yet the woman was putting her practically on top of the only other occupied table?

"Sure," she found herself saying. What difference did it make? It was just going to be one of those days.

Marlow studied the menu quickly. She wanted to be ready to order when the waitress appeared. Even if she didn't have a long drive and an evening of work ahead of her, the less time spent in this eye-straining decor, the better.

"Chicken salad on a croissant," she said before the waitress could do more than smile. "And coffee."

"I'm sorry. We don't have coffee." The young woman pointed to the beverage selection on the menu: tea, tea, tea, and...

"I'll have a lemon presse," Marlow said. She didn't know what it was, but its position on the menu suggested it wasn't tea.

Out of habit Marlow retrieved her notebook and pen and set it on the table in front of her. The surface was so small, she'd probably have to return it to her purse when the meal came. How did two people –there was a chair on the other side of the table– eat at the same time? She glanced over her shoulder to see how the ladies behind her were managing. But if they'd eaten, their plates had already been cleared. The only objects in front of them were identical china teacups. They were so small they might almost qualify as "miniature."

She was about to turn back when two words jumped out of their conversation. She replayed the sentence in her mind: "When a young man like Tyler Fog becomes a terrorist, the world is close to coming to an end."

The way she'd said _Tyler Fog_ had suggested a personal connection.

_Or I'm hearing what I want to hear, _Marlow thought as she turned away from them, moving slowly so as not to attract their attention. She didn't want to interrupt their conversation.

"It almost makes me glad that dear Norah is as she is. It would break her heart."

"He must take after his father. As wild as Claire was, she never crossed the line."

_Claire_... Marlow knew that was Tyler's mother's name. She lived somewhere in the south of France.

"Never," her companion agreed. "Whereas Carlton was mixed up in that awful scandal."

"I thought both boys were nice. It proves how wrong one can be."

_Okay, okay_.Marlow forced herself to relax. _Don't get your hopes up. This might be another dead end. _While taking a deep, calming breath she pulled her wallet out of her purse and flipped it open to her badge.

"I remember the last time they helped with the book sale. They carried all of the boxes and set up the tables. Norah was so proud of –"

"Excuse me, ladies," Marlow moved to stand over them, holding her badge where they could see it, "I'm Agent Jan Marlow of the FBI, and I need to ask you a few questions."

xxx

This was the part of the plan that made Tyler the most nervous. While his grandmother's memory had deteriorated to the point where she didn't always recognize him, he still tried to visit her at least once a month, so he was well known at the Charter Oak facility. With the sprawling building riddled with security cameras that were monitored 24/7, he had to intercept Gabe before he entered the facility. Fortunately for him, Gabe would have to navigate a winding path through a grove of charter oaks that gave the installation its name to get from the parking lot to the building. The path was lined with benches, some of which were set back under the trees. Not sure when to expect his brother, Tyler claimed one of the remote benches shortly before noon and waited.

The weather was on his side. It was cloudy, coolish and dry. Rain would have made him stick out like the proverbial sore thumb, and warmer weather would have prevented him from bundling up in a hooded sweatshirt and a thigh-length windbreaker. It would have been nice to have had one of Will's disguises –a fake mustache or something– but he hadn't thought to grab anything as he snuck out of the house. With the hood pulled over his head he sat in what he hoped was relative anonymity, a book propped in front of him, though his eyes never strayed to the page. He was too busy scanning the path.

There was a steady stream of visitors, more than he'd expected in the middle of a work day. It didn't take him long to figure out why. Most of the residents at Charter Oak were elderly, and the people walking the path were most likely their equally getting-up-in-years spouses and friends, who would have been long retired. He supposed the disabled parking that was located closer to the building would be even more active.

As minutes stretched to more than two hours, he wondered if he could have, should have timed the delivery more specifically. After giving the porter a deadline of noon, he might have suggested a rendezvous between three and four to Gabe.

_Hindsight_. Tyler rued his error and vowed to know better the next time.

Will probably would have provided a near full-proof scheme from beginning to end, if he could have asked him. Of course, if he could have asked him, he wouldn't need to be here. And Will wasn't infallible, as evidenced by the bullet wound that made this quest necessary.

Jay would have made a good ally, with his mix of pragmatism and insight. But Jay might also have insisted on coming with him, and Tyler didn't want to put him at risk.

Which brought him back to Gabe. He had to keep telling himself that Gabe wasn't in any danger. No one wanted him dead. The facility was far from the city. At worst, he wouldn't be able to shake the FBI and they'd arrest him for helping Tyler.

_Please let that be true._ Gabe wasn't part of this. While the FBI was involved in the Drexler, they had no reason to hurt Gabe.

xxx

"So Norah Fowler is Tyler Fog's maternal grandmother?"

"Well, of course," Beatrice Townsend said with impatience. "We just explained. Norah's daughter Claire married Carleton Fog and bore him two sons, Tyler and Gabriel."

Her luncheon companion, Shirley Wells, clicked her tongue in the manner of a school teacher reprimanding a student after a wrong answer. "For an FBI agent, you aren't terribly well informed."

"Well, ma'am," Marlow responded, "as I've tried to tell you, the FBI works as a team. Another agent drew up the family tree and assigned priorities. From what you've told me about Mrs. Fowler she wouldn't be someone we'd contact. She isn't in a position to aid her grandson or provide information."

"That's not her fault!" Beatrice exclaimed.

Reining in her impatience, Marlow forced a benign smile to her face. "I didn't say it was her fault." She made another attempt to extract relevant information. "Do you know Mrs. Fowler well?"

"She's a dear friend," Shirley said, "and a great philanthropist. Even though she was only a part-time resident of the area, she provided invaluable guidance and generous funding to the local art council."

"For some twenty-odd years, the three of us ran the guild's annual book sale," Beatrice added.

Marlow's brain sorted through the information they'd provided, mixed it with general knowledge and tossed out a likely theory. "I take it she has a summer home nearby."

"Yes," two voices answered as one.

Barely resisting an urge to _whoop_, Marlow kept her voice calm as she asked, "Do you happen to know the address?"

xxx

Jess Chambers breathed a sigh of relief as she guided the rental car into a space in the empty quadrant of the nursing home's parking lot. Again, she'd forgotten the yawning gap in lifestyles that stretched between her and Gabriel Fog or she would have given him strict instructions about a rental vehicle. He'd reserved an Aston Martin Vantage for her. An Aston Martin! The car probably cost more than a year's tuition. Much more. Fretting over the car's value, she'd been much too nervous to enjoy its superb handling. Hopefully, she'd be calmer on the way home.

Feeling as stressed as a pilot who'd navigated a damaged plane to a successful landing, she retrieved the brown leather satchel from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. Above and between the trees, she saw a sprawling stone building that looked more like an English manor house than a care facility. She could almost imagine a prim and proper Mr. Darcy striding down the serpentine path with his beloved Elizabeth by his side, walking down to bid her welcome.

But there was no one out to greet her. The path was empty all the way to the door. The only person in sight was sitting on a bench on a rise to her right. And he was much too modern American in appearance to remotely resemble a Jane Austen character.

_Ohmygod_, she thought a moment later. _I know that face. Why is he there? Just keep walking. Don't show that you recognize him. He might..._

Before she could complete the thought, he was running down the hill like a charging bull. She'd stared too long and he'd realized what that meant. Momentarily stunned, he reached her before she could urge her feet to move.

"Don't hurt me. I'm a friend of your brother's" she squeaked, while he was saying, "I'm not that guy."

"Of course you're Tyler," she argued, her fear falling away as she realized he was even more afraid than she was.

"I'm n–," he started to say, then changed it to, "You know Gabe." His eyes strayed to the brown carrying case. "Did he give that to you?"

"It was for you!"

Fury swept through Jess like a wind-propelled wildfire. She was angry at Gabriel for tricking her into aiding and abetting a fugitive and equally angry with herself for being a fool. He'd been so nervous; she should have known there was more to this _favor_ than an innocent delivery to his grandmother.

She was about to stomp off when she noted that Tyler appeared to be dazed, confused, and frightened. None of those were adjectives she would have used to describe a terrorist. The wicked bruise on his cheek heightened his aura of vulnerability and almost made her feel sorry for him.

"Gabe said you were innocent."

"I need that case," he said, his voice dropping into a low growl that was so obviously an act she had to repress an urge to giggle.

"Well, since I came all this way," she said, starting to dislodge the carry strap from her shoulder, "I suppose –" There was a loud bang followed almost immediately by several more of the same. She was turning toward the parking lot, to see what crazy idiot was setting off fireworks outside a nursing home, when a hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her in the opposite direction.

"Come on," Tyler Fog yelled as the satchel jumped in Jess's hand.

_Bullets!_ She realized a second later. Someone was shooting at them.

Jess wanted to yell, to identify herself as Fred Chambers' daughter. But what if they didn't hear her?

So, instead, she found herself matching Tyler stride for stride as he raced up the hill toward the stone building while a hail of bullets whistled around them.

-- end of episode six

Note: Sorry for the very long delay. My commitment to the story is as strong as ever, but my ability to transfer my ideas to words doesn't always work as efficiently as I'd like.


	7. Chapter 7

Episode 7: The Hurdle

(Once again, I would thank to chattypandagurl for her beta-reader services. Her help and support are much appreciated.)

_The biggest hurdle is figuring out who your friends are. Your real friends.  
_Eleanor Mondale

No one responded to Kim's calls for help. Eventually, the cramps eased, but not before they'd been accompanied by a release of blood that she didn't want to think about.

Propped against the rough wood wall she surveyed her prison as best she could in the limited light. The cubic enclosure hadn't changed since she'd explored it earlier. While it was roughly built, it was also sturdy and solid. There weren't any weak areas where she might pry the boards apart, which didn't much matter when breaking out wouldn't begin to solve her problem.

What good was it to think about the faint possibility of escape when it was complicated by the impossibility of flight? She didn't know where she was; she only knew that this hot, muggy environment was a long way from home. She wouldn't know where to go to find safety or how to get there. Her prison was much larger than this small shed.

How could this have happened? Two short weeks ago her primary concern had been Jay's road trip, how much she'd miss him and how his absence might affect their relationship. In retrospect those worries were frivolous and inconsequential.

In less than a fortnight she'd been thrust into a world where the rules of order had been replaced by the turbulence of chaos. It was a place where Jay, a man with the utmost respect for the law, was a wanted terrorist. Where her mother, who went out of her way to avoid stepping on a ant, was the victim of a hit and run driver, and where Kim, who had never lacked confidence, wondered if she had the requisite stamina and skills to cope.

Except for a brief period during early adolescence when Kim had been obsessed with Ann Frank, she'd not given much thought to the gossamer threads of personality that twisted and twined to produce courage or cowardice. Nor had she ever felt a need to define herself by one term or the other. She'd never considered herself to be a fearful person. She'd never shied from challenges, never been afraid of being outspoken about issues that had left her open to derision from her peers. But in this claustrophobic enclosure, where the stink of damp rot combined with the smell of fresh blood, she realized how sheltered her life had been.

_It's not as bad as you think_, she told herself. _Someone will come. Even if this is Guantanamo, someone will come. Then they'll realize that my imprisonment was a terrible mistake_.

With her spirits slightly reinforced she crawled to the corner with the two buckets. Her throat was raw, her mouth dry, and she no longer thought the water was the source of her earlier pain. Using her hands as a cup, she drank sparingly at first, then gulped down several handfuls in quick succession. The tepid liquid did little to refresh her but it did quench her thirst. Eager to build on that achievement, she put her teeth to work on her left sleeve, gnawing at the fabric until she'd created a small hole. She put her fingers on either side of the opening and yanked at the ragged threads until the bottom section of the sleeve pulled free. After pouring a small amount of water into the empty bucket, she placed the newly formed _washcloth _inside and left it there until it was soaked through.

By the time she finished freshening up, she felt a thousand times better, physically and mentally. Soon they'd come for her. Soon she'd be free.

xxx

"Run," Tyler yelled as he grasped the young woman's hand and dragged her up the hill.

He led them on a weaving path through the trees, trying to keep the oaks between them and the bullets that snapped with the fierceness of summer lightning. Though his chosen route was far from a straight line, he maintained a course that would take them to the front door of the nursing home with a minimum of extra steps.

There were security guards beyond that door, and potential witnesses that their attackers might want to avoid. And there was a layout that he knew almost as well as he knew the Yale campus. Time and time again he'd walked the corridors with his grandmother, exploring all of the public rooms as well as several areas that were probably off limits to visitors not named Fog. Extravagant donations tended to generate special privileges.

The tension on Tyler's arm lessened with every step as the young woman's long legs flew up the slope, her feet nimbly avoiding the gnarled roots that crisscrossed the uneven ground. At the juncture to the concrete walk that curved to the main entrance, Tyler stumbled slightly, and for a moment their roles were reversed. She stiffened her arm, steadying him until he regained his balance. Seconds later, they were barreling through the front door.

"This way." Tyler didn't slow down as he skidded past reception and ducked into a corridor that led to the main dining room. Now that they were in the building, his next objective was to get them out again as soon as possible, in case those chasing them had the authority and manpower to seal the exits.

Their explosive entrance caught the staff by surprise. There were several sharp exclamations, but no one attempted to stop them. Tyler knew that shock wouldn't still their actions for long. Reception would call security. He intended to be gone before they responded.

The dining hall was empty except for two men spreading fresh linens over the tables. They barely glanced up as Tyler and his companion raced along the east wall and dashed through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Navigating the cooking stations required a bit more finesse. Tyler slowed slightly as he edged around a man who was slamming into raw vegetables with a wicked-looking knife.

"Excuse me," he said as he bounced off a pastry chef in the process of applying a ruffled edge to the surface of an iced sheet cake.

A heavy metal door marked the exit. Tyler twisted the knob while putting his shoulder to the door to shove it open. Once outside, it was a straight shot to the evergreen grove that buffered the back of the property. The trees were a mere twenty yards away. Gabe's SUV was just thirty to thirty-five yards beyond that, parked on a private road that accessed the facility's garage and maintenance buildings.

Tyler's lungs were burning as his feet contacted the soft layering of pine needles that marked the beginning of the forest floor. "Almost there," he puffed out.

"Almost where?"

"My car." He slowed slightly as they burst back into the open. Not quite oriented, he had to look left then right before he spotted the muddy green vehicle. "There." From five steps away he used the remote to unlock the doors. "Get in."

"No. I have to..."

"I won't hurt you. I promise."

"That's not it. I'm not part of this."

"That doesn't mean you're safe," Tyler said, hating each second that delayed his escape but not wanting to abandon her. He remembered what had happened to Maya after they'd left her to the mercy of unknown thugs. "Those guys with the guns, they didn't seem to care whether you were innocent or guilty."

She hesitated, then jumped into the passenger seat as he powered the engine. "Who are they?"

"I have no idea." He sent the car shooting forward. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want anyone else to get involved. I thought it would be safe."

"Get involved in what? This better not be a bomb." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her unlatch the satchel and look inside. "Medical supplies," she said, her voice laced with puzzlement. "What's going on? Is this for you or was it really meant for your grandmother? But why...?"

"It's for me. Well, us." Tyler felt he owed her an explanation, at the very least. "Will's hurt."

"Will? Isn't your accomplice's name Jay?"

"He's not my accom– Jay's my friend. We didn't bomb the Drexler."

"Innocent people don't go on the run."

"They do when they've been framed." Tyler swung the car onto the four lane road in a direction that took them away from Charter Oak.

"Stop," she said. "My rental car is back the other way."

Tyler resisted an urge to laugh hysterically. "We were almost killed and you're worried about a car?"

"I'm not worried about the car," she said in a voice that was somehow defensive and belligerent at the same time, "except that it was how I planned to get home. Your brother rented it so that I could make this innocent little trip to Grandma's."

"Gabe didn't know there was going to be trouble. I didn't know. I guess that's stupid after the past week, but I didn't think this would happen. I used a code. I told Gabe to be careful; I know the FBI is watching him."

"Those men weren't FBI. Law enforcement personnel aren't allowed to open fire where innocent people might get hurt. And they have to issue warnings."

"Tell that to the agents who were ready to shoot Jay and me in cold blood. Which isn't to say this latest batch of goons is FBI. There have been so many people trying to kill us, I can't keep track."

"You should turn yourself in. I could--"

"Didn't you hear what I said? We can't trust anyone. Not the FBI, not the police, not even my own..." Tyler clamped his teeth over the word _father_.

"But--"

"No." Tyler touched the brake prior to swerving onto a two-lane country road.

"Where are you going?"

"They'll set up roadblocks; I have to avoid the main highways."

"What about me?"

"I'll get you some place safe as soon as we're in the clear. Okay?" When she didn't reply he glanced to his right and saw that she had a phone in her hand. "Hey, hey," he said, "what are you doing with that?"

"Checking my pictures. When we were running, I held out my phone and began clicking away. You can't catch a criminal if you can't identify him. Plus, it would be something that could be used in court to prosecute them."

"Pictures to use in court?" Tyler didn't know whether to be impressed with her presence of mind or to question her sanity.

"Yes," she exclaimed triumphantly. "I got a picture of one of them. It's a bit fuzzy but..."

Her sudden silence prompted Tyler to ask, "What is it?"

"I've seen him before." She spoke with measured slowness as if she was unsure whether to believe the evidence before her eyes. "He was at the restaurant where I had breakfast this morning."

xxx

It was an effort for Carlton Fog to lift his arm so that he could place his right hand on his younger son's shoulder. "Gabriel," he said. "What's bothering you, son?"

Gabe's eyes shifted left and right as if seeking a means to escape the question. "Do you even have to ask?" he finally said. "I'm worried about you... and Tyler."

"No. It's more than that. Since you came back from lunch, you've been a bundle of nerves. Now if something's happened, if you're keeping something from me, you need to tell me. Is it Tyler?"

Sighing, Gabe nodded his head. "He sent me an email."

"Damn him!" The exclamation was followed by a tightening of Carlton's throat. He coughed and coughed, caught in a paroxysm that wouldn't release him.

Gabe hurriedly poured a glass of water and supported his father's head as he put it to his lips. By alternately sipping water and taking shallow breaths, Carlton was finally able to bring the attack under control. As he pushed the glass aside, he whispered, "It's bad enough that he's in trouble, now he's got you involved. Hasn't he damaged this family enough?"

"We have to help him. He's innocent."

"I know how difficult this is for you. It's difficult for me. Tyler should turn himself in; he needs to let the authorities handle this."

"They aren't doing anything. It's as if they decided Tyler and Jay were guilty and stopped looking for anyone else." Sinking back into the chair by the bed, Gabe asked, "Dad, did you get a look at the person who shot you?"

"No."

"Agent Chambers said it was someone connected to the Drexler."

"It wasn't your brother. No matter what he did..." _No matter what I did to him... "_he wouldn't shoot me." Carlton was sure about that, and it didn't hurt to say as much to Gabe. If he wanted him to believe that Tyler was involved in something as heinous as terrorism, he'd have to bring him along slowly.

"I knew it wasn't Tyler, but..."

"You wondered if it was Jay?"

"Not Jay, either. Dad, have you ever met their other roommate?"

"No," Carlton lied. He paused as if in thoughtful contemplation. "And you know, son, that's a bit odd, don't you think? I was in New Haven every other month or so, but Will was never around when I was. I met Jay; I took him and Tyler to dinner several times. Is there something about Will Traveler that bothers you?"

"No." The word spilled out so swiftly that Carlton knew it was a lie. "But like you've said, there's a lot that doesn't make sense. I'm just trying to figure it out."

"You keep working on it, son." Carlton smiled encouragingly. "If I think of anything that might help, I'll definitely let you know."

xxx

Though according to Tyler the closest his grandmother had ever come to cooking had been roasting marshmallows over an open fire, her culinary disinterest hadn't stopped her from turning the kitchen into a chef's Eden. It was almost as well-equipped as Carlton's much larger facility at Elysium, with enough gadgetry to please the most discerning cook--which Jay most certainly wasn't. But he did appreciate the aesthetic design, with almost all of the work stations, as well as the breakfast bar, facing an expanse of windows that looked out on sweeping vistas.

From the cooking island where he was absentmindedly swirling a spoon through a pot of soup Jay had an uninterrupted view of the deck and Long Island Sound beyond. The fog had finally lifted, but the sun remained a stranger hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. While the pale light that streamed through the windows provided more-than-adequate illumination, it wasn't intense enough to chase the damp chill from the air. If... when Tyler returned, they'd need to switch on the furnace. Jay hadn't been able to get past the password built into the thermostat control.

Whatever had sent Tyler away, Jay had expected him back by now. Not that there was any concrete reasoning behind that expectation, but it had been there nonetheless.

Setting the spoon aside, he leaned on the work surface next to the cook top, his knuckles pressing into hard granite. "Dammit, Tyler," he muttered.

"Are you beginning to think he's not coming back?"

Will's voice sent Jay spinning around. "I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"Just stretching my legs."

"You feeling any better?"

Will's only answer was a noncommittal shrug.

"This is almost ready." Jay pointed to where steam wafted from the pot. "Do you want some? I've been slaving over it for all of five minutes."

"No thanks."

"Tyler's coming back," Jay insisted, returning to Will's question. He's smart. He's resourceful. Wherever he is, he'll be careful."

"Just so you know, the stuff on the beach, that's not a guarantee. If they come for us, it'll likely be without warning, swarming in on choppers or creeping in on foot. There might not be an opportunity to get away."

Jay nodded. He wasn't counting on anything these days.

"If there is a chance to make it to the beach," Will continued, "I might tell you to leave while I lay down covering fire. If I say go, you go. Don't hesitate. Understand?"

"If they know where I am, it's not like I could get away. I'd be a floating target. Easy to shoot, if they're so inclined. Or easy to pick up if they call for a boat."

"That's exactly the type of argument I want to avoid. A delay or a distraction could get us both killed. You have to trust me. I won't send you if I don't think it's the best option."

Given Will's haggard appearance, it seemed almost absurd that he was assuming the role of protector, but the steel in his voice told Jay it was pointless to debate the issue. "All right, Will," he gave in grudgingly. "If it comes to that, I'll trust your judgment."

Jay switched off the burner and began to ladle Campbell's best into a waiting bowl. "You sure you don't want any? Chicken soup is supposed to be a good cure-all."

"That's an old wives' tale."

"Tell that to my mother." Jay picked up the bowl and a napkin and led the way back into the great room. "She used to make homemade chicken soup whenever I was sick." He shook his head as remorse plucked at his conscience. "I wonder what she thinks about this."

"The FBI would have contacted her, questioned her."

"And she would have told them that she hasn't heard from me in years." Jay bit on his lip as he slipped into a chair at the corner table. "I made it easy for the people who set me up. I showed that I could hold a grudge against my own mother. Who wouldn't believe that I could also hold a grudge against the government?"

"Strangers might buy that, but your mother won't."

"Why not?"

"She raised you; she knows you're a fixer, not a destroyer."

"I did a good job of destroying my relationship with her. For the past week I've watched the authorities jump to conclusions about Tyler and me. It's made me wonder if I misjudged her. I never really listened when she tried to tell me her side of the story."

Jay canted his head so that he was looking directly at Will, who was propped on the edge of a nearby windowsill. "What about your family? What excuse did you give them for not getting home for holidays the past two years? Do they know what you do?"

"It wasn't a problem. We're not close."

"You lied about your father. I presume the story about your mother--that she lives in Florida with a stepfather you don't get along with--was another lie. So what's the truth?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Jay answered. Will had lied about so much, but the lies about his parents--lies that were devised to get Jay to relate to him--were the ones that hurt on the deepest, most personal level.

"My mother wasn't much more than a child when I was born. You might say we grew up together."

"And your father?"

"I never knew him. When I was old enough to be curious but too young to know better, I asked about him. She pulled out my birth certificate and pointed to the empty space where his name should have been. I don't know if that meant she didn't know, didn't care, or didn't want me to know. We never talked about it again."

"Will... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It had its advantages."

Will reached out and snagged Jay's notebook from the table. "I've been thinking about the people on our list." His fingers trailed over the column of names. "I don't know how much use they'll be."

"Why is that?" Jay asked.

"Most of them are going to lead us to Freed. That's literally a dead end."

"That's depends on whether Freed was their only connection to the Fourth Branch. Surely some of them knew that the Drexler was more than a Hometown operation. What about the guy who was running you?"

"Joseph Langdon. Maybe. I was never supposed to know more about him than his first name, but I followed him home after our second meeting. He has a fancy house in Westchester. It wouldn't hurt to pay him a visit."

"If what the art fence told you is correct –that the painting is rumored to commemorate the founding of a fourth branch of government– then the organization goes a long way back. How could it stay hidden for more than two hundred years?"

"It wasn't entirely secret if the fence heard about it. But, yes, you'd think it would be mentioned somewhere, even if it was limited to rumors in a National Enquirer type publication."

"When Tyler gets back," Jay spoke the words with conviction, "first thing we do is pick up computers. We need to find the people who are behind this."

Will's lips curled in a way that suggested he thought Jay's outlook was overly optimistic, but his response was coolly neutral. "For now, we can check out those Trumbull books. They're upstairs. I'll get them."

Left alone, Jay finally turned his attention to his soup. He downed it quickly, without tasting a single bite.

xxx

A mental shockwave swept through Jess, shattering the detachment that had sustained her during the attack. It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly; she hadn't had time to do anything except to follow the instincts that told her to run and to take out her phone. When she did have time to think about it, she'd naturally assumed that Tyler was the target. But now, seeing the man from the restaurant, she felt vulnerable and exposed.

"I saw him this morning," she repeated, not sure if she was talking to Tyler or to herself. "He must have followed me."

"Were you with Gabe?"

"Not then." Jess was confused and uneasy. Despite the incident with her wallet, she hadn't taken her father's concern seriously. Was he possibly right? Was she in some kind of danger? Why? She began to punch buttons on her phone as quickly as her fingers could move.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting my dad." She didn't want to send the picture–her dad would go ballistic if he saw the gun–so that would have to wait until they were together. But she needed to know if her suspicions had any basis in fact.

"Your father?" Tyler's head jerked around to look at her.

She ignored him as she furiously completed the text: _I think someone following me. Saw him at restaurant this morning, again short time ago. Something going on I should know about?_

The reply arrived less than two minutes later. _Honey, I'm sorry. I should have told you. I asked some of my men to keep an eye on you. _She was still processing the first message when a second arrived. _It won't be for long. I promise._

The men who had shot at them–at her!–worked for her dad? That was impossible. They had to be two different groups. But if her dad had people watching over her, where were they when the attack took place?

_Maybe they were there. Maybe that's why no one caught up with us. Dad's people stopped them. But then Dad would know about it, wouldn't he? They would have called him by now. And he'd have called me._

Her fingers wavered over the phone. She badly wanted to call her dad, to hear his voice and to have this confusion explained. But Tyler Fog was sitting next her, and how would she explain that to her dad? And how would Tyler react if he realized _her_ dad was in charge of hunting him down?

It was best to wait. Difficult, but best. She tucked the phone back into her pocket and stared into the distance. "I need to get back to New York," she said without looking at her companion. "I need to get there as soon as possible."

xxx

Fred Chambers was furious. Rutherford was an incompetent idiot. Jessie had marked him in less than half a day. An amateur could have done better. Now they'd need to find a new team. But as he pulled out his phone to call Whaley, Ron Farrell dashed into his office.

"There was a Tyler Fog sighting in Connecticut."

"We've been getting dozens of calls an hour. Half of the eastern seaboard thinks they've seen Fog or Burchell during the past week. Why is this one important enough to warrant a personal announcement?"

"Because this one sounds legit. It was at a nursing home where Fog's grandmother is a patient and where he's been a regular visitor. Most of the workers have met him at one time or another."

Chambers jumped to his feet. "What are we doing about it?" he asked while striding into the main room. A map of Connecticut was already displayed on the big screen. "Talk to me, Farrell."

"Local law enforcement is on their way."

"I want roadblocks and check points on all major highways. Has anyone spoken to the grandmother? Why haven't I heard mention of her before?"

"She's in the advance stages of Alzheimer's, confirmed by her attending physician. There was no reason to contact her."

Chambers put his hands on his hips and studied the small circle on the map that pinpointed the sighting. "Zoom in and give me an aerial view." Within seconds he could see the roof of the nursing home and the surrounding grounds. "Why would Fog go there? What about Burchell?"

"No mention in the initial report," Farrell replied. "One of the witnesses said there was a woman with Fog. The other witness wasn't sure. She said Fog and a woman were there at the same time, but she didn't know if they were together."

"A place like that should have security footage."

Sheehan glanced up from his computer screen. "I'm already on that."

"Get me a chopper," Chambers said, "and let the local authorities know I'm on the way. Farrell, you'll come with me." Sooner or later, Fog and Burchell's luck had to run out. Hopefully, today would be the day.

xxx

Conrad Mailer couldn't wait a minute longer. Ever since Jon had called him to say someone else was following the woman with the medical package, he'd lost his ability to concentrate. He'd tried to work on the shopping center project, but the blueprints were nothing but squiggly lines. He'd taken Mischa for a walk and almost tripped over the leash. He didn't know what he had eaten for lunch, if anything at all.

Setting aside the newspaper that was still locked on page one, he announced, "I'm going to call Jon."

From the easy chair by the stone fireplace David Fancher shrugged. He knew better than to try to talk him out of it.

"I lost Fog," were the first words out of Anselmo's mouth.

"When?" Mailer switched over to speaker so that Fancher could hear.

"About thirty minutes ago. I would have called, but I've been busy."

"What happened?"

"When the girl went to make the transfer, the two guys from the black sedan opened fire. Fog was obviously the target, but I don't think they were being picky. Fog and the girl took off with the case."

"Then Fog got away?"

"With the package. And all on his own."

"Where did this happen?"

"Outside of a nursing home called Charter Oak in western Connecticut. The men followed Fog into the building but never caught up with him. I suspect he left not long after he went inside. They quit searching when they heard approaching sirens. I got to their car ahead of them."

"And?"

"We took a drive. They were working for Rosalind Freed, mother of the late Jack. I left the car in a wooded area. It took me awhile to get back to my own vehicle. By then the place was swarming with uniforms. I was glad I'd parked outside the grounds."

"I should have had you put a tracer in the package," Conrad sighed.

"We've tried that," Jon reminded him. "I doubt it will work again, and there's the trust issue. They have the supplies. They have numbers to call. I'm going to head back to New York to track down information on the girl."

"That's a good idea. Call me when you get a chance." Mailer turned off the phone and looked at Fancher. "We're back to square one."

"Will isn't stupid or suicidal," David said. "If he needs anything else, he'll call."

xxx

After announcing that she wanted to go to New York, the young woman next to Tyler hadn't said a word. He glanced at her from time to time, worried that she was experiencing some kind of delayed shock over what had happened. But her face–what he could see of it, anyway– appeared to be more meditative than upset. So he concentrated on navigating the back roads that led to New Haven, a route he'd only used on two previous occasions, when he'd needed transition time between visits with his grandmother and his life at Yale.

It was early rush hour by the time he approached the northern suburbs of the city. Since he was going against traffic, that wasn't a problem, but it reminded him that the minutes and hours were ticking away when he'd hoped to be back at the cottage long before now.

"I'm sorry this has taken so long," he told his companion. "But we're almost there now. You'll be home soon."

The girl beside him seemed to sigh. He didn't know if it was prompted by weariness or relief. "Where are we?"

"New Haven. There's a stretch of hotels coming up. I'll drop you off at a high-end one. You can get a taxi into the city from there." He squeezed his hand into his pocket and pulled out half the wad of cash he'd brought with him that morning. "This will cover it."

She hesitated before taking the money. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her flip through the bills. "It's too much."

"Just take it, please. You might need more than you think." He held his breath until she folded the money and stuck it in an inner pocket of her small backpack. "I really am sorry," he said, knowing the words were totally inadequate for what he'd put her through. "I want you to know this is all my fault, my idea. Gabe was just trying to be a good brother."

"He lied to me."

"He knew I wouldn't have asked for help if it wasn't something really important."

Spotting a hotel that would have concierge service, Tyler pulled into its circular driveway, but didn't stop until he was almost to where it intersected the street again. Leaving the engine running, he said, "You've been pretty quiet. I'm not sure what means. I hope it means you maybe believed me when I told you I had nothing to do with the Drexler. If you didn't, you'll be calling the police in a few minutes and there's nothing I can do about it. But if you have even the slightest doubt that I'm guilty, I hope you'll wait until you get back to New York to report this. I need time to get away. It's not just for me, it's for Will."

She turned to face him and he found himself staring into huge emerald eyes that were both exotically beautiful and deeply troubled. "What did you mean when you said the FBI tried to kill you?"

"Just what I said. That first day in New York, the FBI caught us. They had us cuffed, in a van. When the van was attacked, they started to shoot at us."

"You must have been confused. They had to have been shooting at the attackers."

Tyler rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I know it sounds crazy but it's true. They were shooting at Jay and me. The Drexler was part of a much bigger plan. The people behind it set us up to take the blame. We had proof, a recording. Someone killed Jack Freed and blew up his limo to prevent that proof from getting to the press."

She studied him a long time before saying, "I don't know what I think. Frankly, your story isn't at all believable. But..." She took the time to brush her tawny hair behind her right ear before continuing, "You're letting me go. I don't think you'd do that if you were a terrorist. So I'll wait until I'm in the city."

She slid her lithe body from the car before realizing the case's strap was still slung over her shoulder. Smiling sadly, she said, "I believe this was meant for you."

His eyes followed her as she walked to the revolving door under the marquee. As she disappeared from sight, Tyler realized he hadn't even learned her name.

xxx

Jan Marlow exited the library's public access computer and began to gather up her belongings. She'd located Norah Fowler's house and printed directions over an hour earlier. But its isolated location made a daytime approach undesirable. She'd be spotted before she could get anywhere near the place. So she'd decided to wait until dark, which gave her time to brood over whether she was making a colossal mistake.

Burchell had gotten away when she'd met him on her own. She'd almost been killed when she'd approached Langdon without any backup. Now, if what she hoped was true, she'd find all three fugitives at Norah Fowler's seaside retreat. What were the odds she'd survive that confrontation? What were the odds she'd fail and they'd get away again?

_I don't have to do this. I could call the authorities. They can't all be corrupt. _

It's what Borjes would have advised.

Borjes.

She owed it to him to find Whaley, to link Chambers to his killing.

But how best to do that?

Sighing, she snapped her briefcase shut and left the library. Pausing on the front steps, she reached into her purse, pulled out her cell phone and clicked on Harold Stone's name.

xxx

Circling the room that perched on top of the house, Will studied the view in all directions. There was no sign of activity–not on the road, not in the water below--which suggested they were safe, for the moment, anyway.

Outside, the sky was darkening as banks of angry clouds blew in from the west. If he was any judge of weather, there would be rain within the hour. The sea was already choppy, and Will hoped he wouldn't have to send Jay into such rough water.

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the window. The cool glass soothed the scorching heat of his skin. His fever was spiking with the waning of the day. That wasn't a bad thing. Fever was the body's natural defense against infection. He held onto that thought as he slowly descended the two flights of stairs.

Jay didn't appear to have moved so much as an inch while Will was gone. He was still sprawled on the sofa with his eyes closed. The larger of the two Trumbull books was spread open across his chest.

Sinking into one of two matching leather recliners, Will jiggled the control that raised the footrest and lowered the back. The other Trumbull book rested on the stand beside him, but he didn't bother to pick it up. When he'd tried to read earlier, the letters had danced about the page, refusing to stay still long enough to form words. It was darker now, so he was even less likely to have any success.

Closing his eyes, his mind drifted back to Jay's question about his family. Family wasn't something he thought about very often. He'd grown used to wiping the slate of the past clean and starting fresh with each new identity, which might be why he almost felt closer to Will Traveler's made-up parents than to the flesh-and-blood woman who had raised him.

_Six years earlier_

"_Don't do this, Stephen." Gwynn's fingers dug into her son's shoulders as if sensing that words alone wouldn't change his course. "Please."_

"_It's already done."_

"_You're not old enough. You have to be eighteen to enlist without my permission. How could they let you...?" She backed away from him, almost screaming as she continued, "This is David's doing. He's corrupted you."_

_He found himself yelling back. "Would you rather I'd followed in your footsteps? You've worked in that roadhouse for as long as I can remember, serving up beers and shots and pieces of ass."_

"_How dare you?" She swung her arm back, gearing up as if to hit him, but she stopped herself in mid swing. "What am I doing?" She stumbled away, sobbing. "Is violence catching? You were always fighting. Then David came along and it grew worse." _

"_I was always getting beaten up until he came along. He taught me how to defend myself. He taught me to be strong so that I could serve my country."_

_Sinking into a chair, she buried her face in her hands. "You're so close to graduating. Wait a few months, give yourself time to think about it." Her voice trailed off to a vanquished sigh. _

_The trip to Arizona had been a mistake. He should have written a note or a postcard. "I can finish those courses anytime." He'd already exceeded his uncle's demands and would have graduated in December, a semester earlier than planned, but 9/11 had changed everything._

_If a terrorist attack wasn't enough to make his mother understand his priorities, nothing would. _

"_I'm leaving now." He found himself pausing at the door without knowing why. There wasn't anything else to say. But he stood there for close to five minutes, watching as she sat, unmoving, with her shoulders hunched and her face obscured by tangled blonde hair. _

That image had burned into his brain the way a brand seared a calf. It was what always came to mind when he thought of his mother.

He'd written to her once, not long after he'd transferred from Afghanistan to Iraq, enclosing a check because she was always short on cash while he had a bank account bulging with his accumulated military pay and nowhere to spend it. But the envelope had been returned, marked undeliverable. It was probably for the best; they'd always brought out the worst in each other.

"Will," Jay mumbled from the sofa. "D'ya need anything?"

"No. Go back to sleep."

Rain began to patter against the windows. The storm had arrived sooner than he'd expected. Will shifted slightly, leaning to his right, and watched the last remaining shreds of light fade.

If Tyler didn't return soon, they'd have to reconsider their options, whether Jay liked it or not.

xxx

Jon Anselmo sat outside the main entrance to the hospital, waiting for Gabriel Fog to make an appearance. He knew he was still inside because he'd called the nurse's station on Carlton's floor and asked for him.

He was counting on Fog to lead him to the young woman he'd used as a courier or, better yet, to lead him to his brother. Even if he only got the girl's name, that would be enough. Mailer's seemingly infinite resources would be able to track her down.

xxx

_A bomb!_ Jay thought as a shuddering crash jarred him awake. Something heavy fell off his chest as he scrambled to his feet in total darkness, sure that the house was under attack and splintering around him. As he stumbled forward calling Will's name, a burst of light flooded the room. Thinking it was the prelude to a second concussive blast, his arms flew up to protect his face moments before he realized that what he'd perceived to be man-made danger was actually a violent electrical storm.

"I'm over here." As a series of lightning strikes temporarily turned the night into day, Jay spotted Will tucked into a corner of the window seat that stretched along the recessed bay at the front of the room.

Jay's heart was still pounding as fiercely as the thunder. "That's some storm. I thought we were under attack, maybe from those helicopters you mentioned earlier."

"No helicopters, not in this."

The weariness in Will's voice drew Jay to the window. "You should get some rest. I'll keep watch."

"In a– Did you hear that?"

Ears straining, it still took Jay over half a minute to isolate the faint trill of a well-tuned engine from the explosive symphony of the storm. Seconds later, twin glimmers materialized in the gloom at the far end of the escarpment. A car was creeping toward the house, running with just fog lights.

"Go. Get out of here." Will remained slumped in the corner, but suddenly there was a gun in his hand.

"Wait. Look!" Jay reached forward to grasp Will's shoulder. The outline of the vehicle was taking shape; it was higher and broader than a sedan. Lightning crackled through the sky. The dark returned deeper than ever, but not before Jay recognized the SUV and the white face behind the wheel. "It's Tyler."

xxx

Out of the corner of his eye, Fred Chambers could see Ron Farrell waving his hand, trying to catch his attention. Chambers decided to let him stew a minute longer while he finished going over the local sheriff's diagram.

"We've got the main highways blocked. Given his lead time, we had to widen the perimeter." Sheriff Rupert Wayne made a circle on the map; the nursing home was at its center. "As you can see, there are a lot of other ways to get about, two-lane roads, even some country lanes. I don't have enough manpower to cover every slip of a road or alley, so he could still get away, but it won't be easy. Those routes aren't easy to navigate."

"Let's hope he stumbles out where we can find him. What about the car? Do we know what he's driving?"

"No, sir. I'm afraid not. We think his car was parked on the service road. There are fresh tire tracks and no one else to account for them. We're trying to get some molds made before the rain washes the tracks away."

"Tell them to get a move on," Chambers said, dismissing Wayne. He crooked a finger to where Farrell was standing. "All right, Ron, what do you have that can't wait?"

Farrell coughed and walked over to him. "I think you should take a look at the surveillance video. Fog might have a hostage."

Chambers resisted an urge to snicker. As a member of The Fourth Branch, what he didn't know about Tyler Fog would fit into a thimble. There was no one less likely to have taken a hostage, except maybe for Jay Burchell. "Are you talking about that girl who might have been with him? I thought one of the nurses identified her as a recreational therapist."

"The woman she thought it was isn't working today."

Chambers ambled into the small security office. At a nod from Farrell, a man sitting at an L-shaped desk activated the security video. A grainy black and white picture filled the computer screen; it showed the reception area. Almost immediately Fog slipped into view, entering from the right side. The position of the camera made for a narrow frame, so almost as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Focused on Fog, it took a couple of seconds for Chambers' brain to register the second moving body. "Run it again," he said from a suddenly parched mouth, "in slow motion." He couldn't have seen what he thought he saw.

But there it was. Hands linked and immediately behind Fog was a lithesome young woman, whose long limbs made her appear to be even taller than she was.

_Jessie!_

It couldn't be. Hadn't they just texted each other? And Rutherford was watching over her. Nothing could have happened.

Chambers glanced at his watch. The texts had been hours ago, and Rutherford hadn't made his scheduled six o'clock report.

But why was Jessie anywhere near here?

Did that matter?

_Jessie._

She must have texted him just before...

"Not Fog," he said out loud. Fog was the one they saw, but Traveler had to be behind it. And Doherty wasn't even in the country this time. _Jessie! _

As Chambers backed, breathless, out of the room, an icy voice streamed through his mind: _Your daughter is a beautiful young woman._

xxx

Warm air greeted Tyler as he slipped into the first-floor bedroom. The small, enclosed space was heating more quickly than the rest of the house. Jay must have found and opened all the vents.

"Did you see anything?" Will asked from where he was propped on pillows at the head of a narrow bed. He was doing something to his wound.

"No," Tyler said. "There's not so much as a mouse stirring out there. I walked all the way to where the road dips into the woods. I told you no one was following me. I would have noticed them." He shook the rain out of his hair and dropped into the room's only chair.

Designed to provide modest quarters for a live-in housekeeper, the room felt claustrophobically small with the three of them crowded within its four walls. But its single window made it the logical place for them to retreat. With the drapes drawn and shade pulled down, they could turn on as many lights as they wished without any worry of attracting attention.

They'd needed the light to sort out the medical supplies and begin to put them to use. Tyler had left that to Jay and Will while he'd closed up the rest of the house and looked around outside. "How's everything here?" Despite a wastebasket full of medical debris, Will looked worse than ever. Fever blotches on his cheeks were the only spots of color on a face that was otherwise sickly pale and lined with pain. And the hand that was pressing gauze to his side was trembling.

Perched on the foot of the bed, Jay looked up from the papers he'd been reading. "I'm still sorting through this list of what they sent to see if there's anything else we should be doing."

"Don't worry about it," Will said, using tape to secure the gauze in place. "This is good for now."

Jay turned his attention to Tyler. "They sent along IV fluids, but neither of us could get it set up. Do you want to give it a try?"

"Me?" Tyler felt faint just thinking about it. "I did biology dissections with my eyes closed. Will wouldn't want to end up looking like my mangled frog."

"And I guess I wouldn't want to have to defend you against his certain lawsuit." While the words were light, Jay's face was grim as he set the clump of papers aside. "I've been thinking. Can we trust the porter? We don't know that anything he sent is what it says it is. Maybe you shouldn't have taken that injection of antibiotics."

"We can't trust him," Will said. "But if he wanted to kill us, we'd be dead. I think it's safe to assume the drugs are legit."

"So whose side is he on?" Tyler asked.

"It depends on how you're keeping score. Based on what you've told me, he saved your lives. And he seemed to be on my side at the park. But he might also be the person who killed Freed."

"Killed Freed!" Tyler found himself popping out of the rocker-recliner and taking a step toward the bed. "What makes you say that?"

"He was at the scene, had the opportunity, and has the skills. It's like you said when you accused me, it had to be someone who knew we had Freed and knew where we were. Since we know he was following us, the Porter is at the top of the suspect list."

Tyler fell back into the chair. "Sonofabitch. Freed was our way of this mess. I should have thrown that watch away as soon I knew about the tracer."

"Freed wouldn't have talked," Will said. "It would have been his word against ours."

"But it would have been a start." Tyler dug his knuckles into his forehead. Sometimes he was his own worst enemy. "Damn it to hell and back. Why would he kill Freed? Does that mean he's the guy who shot my Dad?"

"I don't know." Will slumped lower on the pillows.

"We should ask him," Jay said. "He says he wants to work with us, he needs to answer some questions first."

"Like he's going to tell the truth?" Tyler played back their encounters with the man. "He has his own agenda. We know that."

"I still think it's worth a call." Jay stood up and started for the door. "It's way past dinner time. I'm going to put together a plate of sandwiches. Is there anything else anyone wants?"

The mere mention of food was enough to prompt Tyler's long neglected stomach to rumble. "A soda and a piece of that chocolate cake. Make it a big piece. Thanks."

As Jay ducked from the room, Will rearranged the afghan that had been draped over his shoulders, pulling it tight across his chest.

"He said he could arrange for a doctor," Tyler told him. "We should do that if the stuff he sent isn't enough."

"It's enough." Will managed to conjure up a weak glare as he added, "What you did, it was stupid, a big risk."

"Yeah," Tyler agreed easily. He wasn't going to let Will provoke him into a fight.

"Thanks."

"Huh?" It wasn't that Tyler hadn't heard the word clearly, it was just so unexpected.

"You put yourself in harm's way for me. Thanks."

Tyler ducked his head so that he was looking down at the worn Oriental rug and mumbled the first thing that came into his head. "You're welcome."

xxx

Normally, the gentle sway of the cab combined with the rhythmic swish of its windshield wipers would have served as a lullaby to lull Jess Chambers to sleep. But there was nothing normal about the ride back to New York.

Her mind churned and twisted, sweeping like a cyclone over recent events, pulling up individual memories and tossing them helter skelter before she could make any sense out of them.

Maybe there wasn't any sense to be made.

Three men, three very different men, were at the center of the maelstrom. Why had her father found it necessary to have her watched? And where were the supposed watchers during the attack? Or were they the attack? The last question was the most bothersome, and she wouldn't know the answer until she showed her father the picture on her phone. If they were one and the same, it would give credence to Tyler Fog's disbelieving conspiracy story.

Leaning her head against the side window, Jess restrained an urge to groan. Her life would be far simpler if she'd listened to Amy's advice and never gone to see Gabriel. He'd used her, lied to her. She'd been stupid and naive to trust someone she barely knew.

Was she equally stupid and naive to heed Tyler's request to keep quiet until she got home? He was a wanted terrorist and she'd failed to make a timely report of their encounter. She'd looked into his eyes and saw a haunted, hunted young man, who had seemed sincere. But how could he be with such an outlandish story?

Her dad. Her dad would have a lot to say about her activities and behavior. How was she ever going to explain herself? What if he had to arrest her for aiding and abetting a wanted criminal?

She should have thought things through. She should never have gotten involved.

_Don't think about it. Don't think at all._

But the lights of the city were brightening the horizon and she'd not yet given the cab driver a final destination.

The dorm? Her dad's house in the Village? FBI headquarters?

She should turn herself in and spare her dad the necessity of taking her into custody.

She could hear his voice in her head; it was full of disappointment. "_Oh, Jessica."_

Opening her mouth, she was about to direct the cab driver to the 24th police precinct when _I Need a Hero _blasted from her phone.

Just when she didn't think it could get any worse.

Bracing herself, she flipped open the phone.

"Daddy..."

"Jessie." It almost sounded like her dad was crying. "Listen to me. Everything is going to be all right. I promise. You'll be fine. I'll take care of everything. Just put Traveler on."

"Traveler?"

xxx

Kim blinked furiously, trying to fool her eyes into thinking the trickles of light squeezing between the boards weren't growing more faint. That simply couldn't be. Because if it were true, it meant she'd spent hours and hours here. Alone. Isolated. Abandoned.

Someone had to come. She'd been grasping at that expectation, using it as her lifeline to hope. Now that lifeline was fraying with every passing second.

Total dark came much too quickly, dropping like a curtain across a stage.

Whimpering softly, she sank to the floor and curled into a fetal ball. The hopelessness that she'd been holding at bay circled her like a hungry shark. She sensed razor teeth preparing to rip into her fragile psyche.

_No_! She shuddered and gasped, trying to stretch beyond the confines of her terror for some form of deliverance.

_Jay... _An image blossomed in her mind, but the image only heightened her despair by reminding her of how much she'd lost.

_Mom... Dad... _Their images stirred memories of comfort and coddling, of loving arms wrapped protectively around her as she passed from infancy to childhood to adolescence. She shied away from those images as well, afraid that they'd generate self pity that would seal her doom.

_Tyler... Nell... _Their images were transparencies that floated away almost as quickly as they formed. They were part of a different world, one that was swiftly losing any relevancy.

_Agent Chambers..._ That was a powerful image. He had the strength to help her. But he wasn't here. There was nothing to grasp except his warnings, which she'd failed to heed.

_Will... _A blast of emotion accompanied the image. Its explosive force expanded outward and filled her senses until there wasn't room for anything else.

Startled, she sat up. It took her several seconds to identify the universal truth responsible for the sudden fortifying of her resolve. When thrust into a seemingly bottomless abyss where destructive predators roamed, love and friendship, and even authority, weren't strong enough to provide protection.

But hate... hate was powerful and fierce. It was a monster that could combat the hellish spawn of the devil himself.

xxx

"I wish I knew if Gabe's friend made it home," Tyler said.

"They weren't after her," Will told him, hoping that was true. He wiggled back and forth until he was sitting up straight again. "We'll get phones; you can call your brother tomorrow. What's taking Jay so long?"

"He's only been gone a few minutes." Tyler paced over to the bed and took Jay's spot at the foot. He picked up the stapled bunch of papers that had been included with the medical supplies and slowly flipped through them. "According to this, they sent a bunch of different pain killers, including an analgesic patch. Did you use any of them?"

"Not yet. Later."

"Why wait?"

"Because…" Will looked into Tyler's eyes and saw a deep exhaustion that mirrored his own. "Pain meds will make me sleepy and we have to leave."

"We have to leave." Tyler repeated the words slowly, disbelievingly. "We just got here yesterday. You said it would be safe."

"There was always some risk," Will admitted. "Now that the connection to your grandmother has been established, the risk expanded exponentially. They're going to take a closer look at her, and that might lead them here."

"If we need to leave, why are we still here?"

"I wanted to give you a chance to catch your breath, then Jay suggested the sandwiches. We'll go after you eat."

Expecting Tyler to complain--he tended to be grumpy when he was tired–Will was surprised to see him square his drooping shoulders and smile. "It's lucky we didn't do much unpacking. I'll get our--" His words cut off as the bedroom door swung open with a ferocity that sent it crashing into the wall.

Will reacted without the need to process information through his brain. His hand started toward his shoulder holster as he turned to face the now open door. Jay stumbled into the room and dropped to his knees, his hands going to his head.

"Don't." The FBI agent in the doorway swung her gun until it was pointed toward Will. His hand was moving but not nearly quickly enough; his fingers kept catching on openings in the loose knit afghan. After what felt like an eternity, he contacted the metal grip. _Stupid! _He berated himself for using the afghan. That thought, possibly his last thought ever, passed through his mind as she squeezed the trigger.

– end of episode 7

Note: I apologize for the long delay since I last updated. Writing time has been in short supply.


	8. Chapter 8

Episode 8: The Fittest

(With many thanks to chattypandagurl, who continues to provide skilled beta services.)

_The survival of the fittest is the ageless law of nature, but the fittest are rarely the strong. The fittest are those endowed with the qualifications for adaptation, the ability to accept the inevitable and conform to the unavoidable, to harmonize with existing or changing conditions. _Dave E. Smalley

Marlow's aim was true. The bullet's trajectory took it directly to its intended target. Paint chips and plaster dust exploded from the wall above the bed. Redirecting the gun to the middle of Traveler's forehead, she shouted, "Don't make me shoot you. I want your hands where I can see them. Now!"

Slowly, his hands slid out from the under the purple afghan, fingers spread and palms facing her to show that nothing was concealed in them.

"Get those arms in front of you. That's right, stretch them out. Keep them straight. Good. Now don't move." Using her left hand, she unclipped the handcuffs from her belt and tossed them into Fog's lap. "Put those on his wrists, nice and tight."

"Do it yourself." Fog crossed his arms in front of his chest, the gesture punctuating the stubborn resolve in his voice. "You're going to kill us, regardless. Why should we make it any easier for you?"

"Would you like to be first?" She swung the gun his way while keeping her eyes trained on Traveler.

"It's okay, Tyler." Traveler leaned forward until his fingertips brushed against Fog's right shoulder. "Do it."

"Fine!" Fog snapped the cuffs in place. The task completed, he glared at Marlow as if daring her to question whether they were as snug as she would have liked.

She ignored him as she focused on the most dangerous member of the trio. The purple afghan had slipped to Traveler's waist, exposing a large caliber handgun tucked in a shoulder holster.

Well, it wasn't as if she hadn't expected him to be armed. But now she knew exactly where the weapon was located.

With the initial confrontation safely behind her Marlow could feel the pace of her pulse ratchet down a notch. She was in control, it could only get better…she hoped.

After carefully transferring her weight to her right leg, she used her left to kick the door shut. That allowed her to back against it, putting more space between her and the three fugitives.

"All right," she said, eyeing each of them in turn, "now it's time to talk. Burchell, you might want to get more comfortable. Take a seat in the chair, but keep your hands where I can see them."

Burchell directed a quiet "I'm sorry" to his companions before settling in the chair.

"Tell me about the Drexler. Fog, let's start with you. Why were you there?"

Fog turned away from her as if he wasn't interested in anything she had to say. Instead, he focused on Traveler. "She couldn't have followed me," he said in a bewildered voice. "Couldn't have."

"I don't think she did." Traveler scanned Marlow from her sopping hair to her mud encrusted shoes. "It's not the nicest night for a hike," he said. "I guess that explains why you're alone."

Raised eyebrows from Fog and a slight stiffening from Burchell told Marlow that Traveler had their attention. If they hadn't realize it before, Fog and Burchell were now aware that they outnumbered her three to one.

She knew what Traveler was doing; he was trying to wrest control of the situation from her. If he'd ever relinquished it... He'd been a bit too quick to submit to the cuffs.

She needed to diffuse the situation before one of them tried something foolish. It meant putting her cards on the table sooner than she would have liked. But hadn't she already made the decision to trust them when she'd come here instead of completing the call to Harold Stone?

"I'm alone," she said, confirming her vulnerability. "By choice. The only reason I didn't come knocking at your door was because I didn't want to spook you. That's why I parked my car by that row of houses at the bottom of the hill. And it's why I walked here in the rain." She nodded to Burchell. "I realized that you were telling me the truth. You and Fog didn't have anything to do with the Drexler bombing; you were set up." Tilting her head to the right, her eyes met Fog's. "And I believe what you said, that the FBI is involved." She managed to keep her voice steady as she continued. "My partner is dead. My boss tried to have me killed. I'm here for the same reason you went with Traveler that night at Club Fervor. I want answers."

Fog responded with a snort. "You'll excuse me if I don't believe you. I'm a little short on trust these days."

"In your shoes I probably wouldn't believe me, either. But trust has to begin somewhere. If my intent was to arrest you, I'd have backup, lots of backup." She stooped down and lowered her gun hand to the carpet. Her fingers were reluctant to give up the security the weapon represented, but eventually they released the metal grip. With her arms spread defenseless to either side, she stood up. "Now, will you tell me about the Drexler?"

xxx

"Traveler?"

"Just give him the phone," Chambers pleaded. "Do you understand, Jessie? Give him the phone."

"The cab driver?" Jessie asked. "Daddy, what's going on?"

It was an effort to stay calm. "Whatever he wants, I'll make it happen."

There was a long period of silence during which Chambers pictured Jessie passing the phone to Will Traveler. But when the silence ended, Jessie was still on the line. "You found out I was with Tyler Fog," she said. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Daddy, he didn't hurt me. I'm fine. He dropped me off in New Haven. I don't know where he went from there, but I'm on my way back to New York and I need to see you."

Braced for untoward sorrow, Chambers was finding it difficult to transition to a world where life had meaning again. "You're not with Traveler? Or Fog?"

"I'm in a taxi. The only person with me is the driver."

Chamber closed his eyes and leaned against the wall outside the security office. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

"Daddy, are you there?"

"Yes, honey. I'm in Connecticut at the Charter Oak facility. When I saw the surveillance footage that showed you with Fog, I thought... I don't even want to think about what I thought. You're really all right?"

"Yes. Fine. But... we need to talk. It's important. When will you be back?"

He could hear a mix of uncertainty and distress in her voice. She was upset. That was to be expected. The important thing was that she was alive. She was safe. She was free. "Go to the dorm," he instructed. "Stay there. I'm on my way. I love you."

"I love you."

As soon as the connection ended, Chambers punched the number for his office. He'd send agents to watch the dorm. As for the incompetent Fourth Branch surveillance team, wherever they were, he'd deal with them later.

xxx

By the time Gabe crossed Seventy-Ninth Street pedestrians were few and far between. There was a steady stream of cars on Broadway, but very little foot traffic. Maybe it was the light rain, the last remnants of the storm that had passed through the city earlier in the evening. But more likely it was the location. The bustling center of Manhattan was far behind him. Only local residents would be walking the streets in this part of town, and it was late enough that most of them were probably settled in for the night.

Fingering the phone in his pocket, he had half a mind to call for a taxi to whisk him off to the penthouse. But he knew he couldn't relax until he'd confirmed that Jess was okay. He'd expected her to call as soon as she returned to the city, which should have been hours ago. When he didn't hear from her, he should have called her, but he found himself making one excuse after another to delay contact. He'd have to leave his father's room and Carlton would want to know why. Jess had run into a traffic jam or gotten lost and it wouldn't be good to distract her when she was on the road. She was back but had a late class or a study group that he shouldn't interrupt. By the time he admitted the truth--that he was embarrassed to talk to her after he'd lied--the nurses were telling him it was time to leave.

So he'd set out from the hospital, somewhat aimlessly, or so he'd thought. But his feet had plans even if his mind hadn't processed them. They'd carried him steadily uptown, toward Columbia University and Jess's dorm.

Now that he'd admitted to himself where he was going, he was reluctant to continue. What was he going to do when he got there? Tell her the truth? Wouldn't that put Tyler in danger?

As he neared another intersection, Gabe found himself jerking to a stop. His antennae were flickering. He didn't know how else to describe it. Adrenaline was suddenly surging through his system as his body clicked into full alert mode. Something or someone was out of place. He turned in a complete circle, checking carefully in every direction, but couldn't identify the source of his concern. Again, he fingered the phone in his pocket. Maybe he should have hired the bodyguards that Will Traveler had recommended. No, that was ridiculous. He hadn't needed a personal bodyguard in Iraq and he didn't need one here. Besides, if there was anything out of place, it was himself. And if anyone around him was also out of place, it would be the FBI.

Yes, that was it. In all likelihood the FBI had someone tailing him. That's what his subconscious had detected.

Did he really want to lead the FBI to Jess' dorm? Would they wonder why he was there? Why he had _walked_ there?

That wouldn't do anyone any good.

Pulling out the phone, he called for a cab. He'd wait until he was in the privacy of the penthouse before contacting Jess.

xxx

Jay placed the last of the items from the refrigerator into the large cooler Tyler had retrieved from the out building. After briefly getting acquainted with Marlow, they'd all agreed that their first priority was to vacate the cottage. If she could find it, so could others.

"Fridge is empty," Jay said. "What else do we need to do?"

From the other side of the kitchen Tyler called out an answer. "Toss the ice into the sink, then turn the ice maker off. I'm almost done with the cabinets." He fluffed open a paper grocery bag. "This is the last empty bag. Unless our supplies multiplied while we were here, we should have everything. And if we missed something, it shouldn't matter. It's not as if the cupboards were bare when we got here."

"The perishables were Will's main concern," Jay said. "That would be sure to raise red flags if the FBI conducts a search."

"I know he's hoping that they never find out we were here," said Tyler, "but our fingerprints are all over the place."

"If there isn't anything to catch their attention, they might just do a cursory check, if they even come here." Jay returned the empty ice bin to the freezer and began a final walk through of the kitchen. His flashlight beam bounced off a square of white in a particularly dark corner. "The cake!"

"Don't forget–" A clatter filled the room, followed by a string of curses, then... "The bag ripped."

Jay reached into a drawer and tore a plastic garbage bag from a roll. "Use this." He stooped down to help. When they'd recovered everything, he tied a knot in the top of the bag and picked it up. "I can tell you've never worked checkout in a supermarket. A paper bag would never hold this much weight."

"Earth to Jay, until I moved to the Castle I never even shopped in supermarkets."

"You boys done?" Marlow appeared in the doorway to the hall. She was wearing a waterproof poncho over a sweat suit that had belonged to Tyler's grandmother. It made her look less foreboding than the rain-drenched pants suit the outfit had replaced.

"I think so." Jay passed her the bag he'd been carrying. "Let's get this stuff to the car."

Marlow led the way, her sneakers–which had been appropriated from the maid's closet–squeaking when they rubbed against the wooden floor. Jay put the cake box on top of the cooler, picked it up and fell in behind her and Tyler.

"I'm going to check upstairs," Tyler said, ducking out of line when they reached the stairs.

"Traveler already did that," Marlow called after him.

"He doesn't know the house as well as I do. He might have missed something."

The SUV was parked as close to the house as possible, just at the foot of the porch stairs. The back hatch was open and the rear storage compartment was crammed with their backpacks and other belongings.

As Jay started down the steps, he asked, "Do you know where Will is? We should be about ready to leave."

"I'm not sure. We were loading the car when he mumbled something about wetsuits and took off toward the back."

"The beach! He should have let one of us do that." Jay trotted to the back of the SUV. The lightning and thunder had ended, but the rain was still falling hard enough to sting on contact. He jammed the cooler into the car. The jolt sent the cake box skittering; it would have toppled to the ground if Marlow hadn't caught it.

"You in a hurry, Burchell?"

"I need to check on Will."

He ran back through the house so he could retrieve the flashlight he'd left in the kitchen. Clicking it on, he exited onto the sprawling deck. Even to eyes that had grown accustomed to working in dim light the pitch black to the rear of the house was nearly impenetrable. With only the weak beam of the flashlight standing between him and walking off the edge of the cliff, Jay picked his way slowly and carefully to the top of the stairs.

The wooden steps that had seemed solid and stable earlier felt rickety as he started down. While he was pretty sure that was an illusion created by the swirling winds, he couldn't shake an image of the structure collapsing beneath him.

"Will!" The surging air currents caught his shout and carried it aloft, eliminating even the faint possibility that Will, if he was on the beach, would hear it over the pounding surf.

As he drew closer to sea level, muted moonbeams were beginning to penetrate the thinning layer of clouds. Jay could make out shadings in the curl of the waves sweeping across the black water. Some bits were a tad lighter than others and carried a faint luminescence. It seemed safe to trust his eyes, so he switched off the flashlight and stuck it in his back pocket.

The narrow ribbon of beach had almost disappeared under the onslaught of the storm. As he left the staircase Jay felt his shoes sink into wet sand. The first thing he noticed was that the two bags he'd tied to the bottom post of the railing were gone. The second thing was a murky shape rising out of the water some fifteen to twenty feet from shore. It was making its way toward the beach with stuttered slowness, inching forward, then swaying back half again as far as the force of the outgoing tide tried to carry it seaward.

"Will!" Jay shouted again, and was rewarded with a small wave from the figure that was struggling through the turbulent surf.

"Stay there," Will called when Jay started forward. Since he continued to make progress, albeit at an excruciatingly sluggish pace, Jay resisted the urge to enter the water. It wasn't easy to stand and do nothing when his natural instinct was to help his friend. _Friend_? Yes, the bond was still there, even if reconciling the incongruity of the betrayal remained a work in progress.

Time dragged as Will worked his way to where the water barely brushed his knees. His pace picked up for two steps then he dropped forward, clearly exhausted. "Stay," he called a second time as he pushed up to his hands and knees. "No need for both of us to get soaked."

"The rain's already taken care of that." Jay looked down at the sodden mess that had crawled out of the water and stopped just short of his feet. "Will, you're crazy. What were you doing?"

"I weighed the bags, dragged them to where the water deepened. It seemed the quickest way to dispose of them."

The flicker of white teeth told Jay that Will was grinning. "This isn't funny," he scolded. "You could have drowned." Truthfully, Jay was surprised he hadn't. Even at a hundred percent–and the gunshot wound had dropped Will way below that–it wouldn't have been easy to negotiate the storm bloated sea.

"Lighten up, Jay. I'm still sucking air." Will climbed slowly to his feet. He put one hand on Jay's arm and pointed toward the steps with his other. "Let's get out of here."

Jay shook his head, exasperated. He could feel Will leaning on him for support, could sense the shivers trembling through his chilled body. There was no way in hell he should have been in the water.

When they reached the stairs, Will released his hold on Jay and lurched for the railing. "You run ahead," he said. "Get out of those wet clothes and find something dry for me."

"Maybe I should wait for you."

"Go on." Will gave Jay a weak shove. "Go." His teeth flashed white again. "After all, this might be your one and only chance to end the Traveler win streak."

xxx

"What were you doing with Fog?"

The words came out softly enough, but Jess could see that her dad's back teeth were grinding against each other. His restraint made her feel all the more guilty, both for causing him worry and for compromising his job.

"It was an accident." She used her sleeve to wipe away tears that were forming in her eyes. "I didn't know he'd be there. Dad, I've been a fool."

"Hey, hey. None of that." He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. "You could never be a fool. Tell me what happened."

Jess pulled her legs up onto her bed and crossed them yoga style in front of her. "I've been seeing Tyler's brother Gabriel." His look of horror prompted her to amend what she'd said. "Not seeing him as in _seeing_ him, just as friends. We met briefly a long time ago. He did me a favor and I never got a chance to thank him. I never even knew his name until I saw his picture in the paper the other day."

"And...?"

"I contacted him. We met. As you know, he's going through a pretty rough time. I've tried to be supportive. Well, today _he_ needed a favor. Of course, I said yes. I thought I was taking a package to his grandmother, but it was for Tyler."

"He got you involved with Tyler! I'll--"

"I know you'll have to talk to him because of the Drexler," Jess rushed out. "But Dad, please try to keep your personal feelings out it. I don't plan to see him again, so there's nothing to be gained by ripping his throat out."

A smile teased at the corners of her Dad's lips. "I guess you know me pretty well."

"Yeah, I think so. Are we good on this?"

"I promise I'll try." He gave a slight sigh and shifted back to professional mode. "Do you know what was in the package?"

"Yes." Jess thought about the contents of the satchel. That she'd been on a mercy mission mitigated Gabriel's deceit, but not so much that she was inclined to forgive him. "Medical supplies. Tyler said his friend was hurt. I don't know how badly, but the supplies suggested it might have been pretty serious. It wasn't Jay Burchell. It was someone named Will."

"Will Traveler." There was a venomous edge to her father's voice as he spoke the name.

Jess perked up. Something that hadn't made any sense on the phone fell into place. "That's what you meant when you kept asking about _traveler_. Traveler is a person."

Her father's hand went to his head, his fingers rubbing his temple as he leaned forward in the desk chair that seemed almost too small for his frame. "I shouldn't even be telling you this. The information is classified, so it has to stay between you and me. Traveler was the mastermind behind the Drexler."

Jess tried to reconcile that with Tyler's concern for his friend. "I don't understand. I talked to Tyler. Dad, he's not a terrorist and I don't think he'd protect someone who was."

"Honey, I don't know that you have enough experience to make that judgment."

She shook her head. "He's a genuinely decent guy. He was worried about a friend. He let me go."

"I'm sure you considered Gabriel to be a _decent guy_ as well."

"Well, yes., but..." Jess bit on her lip, concentrating on her impression of Tyler Fog. "He was scared, Dad. He was really scared. Even before they started to shoot at us--"

"What!" Her dad blasted out of the chair like a rocket. "Who was shooting at you? Where? When?"

"Outside the nursing home. I hadn't gotten to that yet." Jess slipped off the bed and crossed the room to retrieve her phone from her jacket pocket. She found the picture of the man from the diner and handed the phone to her dad. "This man and one other. The guy in the picture, he was at the diner where we had breakfast this morning."

Her father's face turned so white she thought he might faint. "Dad--"

xxx

Mailer picked up the phone on the first ring, a sign that he was eagerly awaiting the call. That didn't deter Anselmo from opening with an apology. "I'm sorry. I know this is your dinner time."

"That's not a problem. I told you to call any hour, day or night."

"Yes, sir. But this isn't an emergency. In fact, I don't have anything to report."

There was a discernible hitch of breath at the other end of the line. "It's not what I wanted to hear, but you were right to call. In fact, if you hadn't called, I would have called you shortly."

Anselmo waited for several seconds, hoping that his employer might explain why he'd seemed to be on tenterhooks since Tyler had made his request. But when Mailer didn't continue, Jon returned to his report. "I'd hoped that Gabriel Fog would lead me to the girl, but he's back at the penthouse."

"The news is a little better on this end. Tyler Fog appears to have eluded capture."

"Then he'll see that we fulfilled his request. It might make them more inclined to trust me, to be willing to work with me."

"Right now, I'm more concerned about the need for the medical supplies. If it's not enough..."

The despondency in Mailer's voice prompted Jon to offer reassurance. "The package included phone numbers. They can call your doctor friend or me or the clinic in Springfield. They've already shown a willingness to call."

"I know." Mailer's voice trailed off; he sounded anything but reconciled.

From his own personal experience Anselmo knew that action–sometimes any action–was preferable to passive waiting. So he thought Mailer might appreciate having something to do. "What about accessing Gabriel Fog's phone records?"

"I could arrange to get that. It might take time. Do you think it will lead us to Tyler?"

"Not really. Fog and Burchell have learned to cover their tracks. And if Gabriel Fog's phone could provide a way to find Tyler, the FBI would already be on it. But the numbers might help us to identify the girl. That's likely a dead end," he said, not wanting to mislead, "but I don't like to leave any stone unturned."

"Is there anything else?"

"No..." Anselmo resisted the urge to probe Mailer further about his fixation with Traveler. He knew his employer wouldn't withhold information that might compromise their shared goal. "No, that's all."

xxx

"Do you know him?" Jessie asked.

"No, of course not." Chambers pulled himself together. "Seeing the picture was a shock. Someone was shooting at you. At my daughter! If something had happened--"

"Nothing did." She put her hand on his arm. "I thought about sending you the picture, but I knew how you'd react. I decided it was better to wait until you knew I was safe."

Chambers' mind was barely processing her words. It was leaping ahead to what he was going to do to Rutherford. "Jessie, sweetheart, there's still a lot you and I have to sort out, but it can wait until tomorrow. This picture gives us a new lead in the Connecticut investigation. I have to follow up on that. I'll need to borrow your phone. You'll have it back by morning."

She tightened her grip on his wrist. "You said you had someone watching me. Where was he?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him." The last part, at least, was true. No one had been able to reach Rutherford or Markowitz. "That's something else I need to check." He forced himself to take a slow breath. "Look, honey, I need you to do something for me. I want you to go to our place in the Village, at least for tonight. My men will take you there and keep watch outside. The dorm is just too big, there are too many ways in and out. I need to know you'll be somewhere safe."

"But I have an early class..."

"Please."

"Yes, all right." She dropped his hand and turned away. He sensed she was close to crying again.

"You'll be safe. I promise. There won't be a repeat of this afternoon."

"I'm not worried about me. It's you. I hope I haven't made trouble for you."

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You could never make trouble for me. Ever."

xxx

"I don't like this," Tyler said. His eyes were locked on the red tail lights of Marlow's rental car that was a car's length in front of them. "This is taking too long. We've already passed a half dozen motels. We need to get off the road. The police are probably still looking for me."

"It's okay," Jay replied. "I'm sure Will knows what he's doing. He said he had a specific type of motel in mind."

"Will? I don't trust him to stay conscious. He couldn't even undress himself."

"His clothes were plastered to his body and he was close to hypothermic. He just needed to warm up a bit. He was focused when he rattled off that detailed list of instructions before switching to Marlow's car."

"Yeah, I guess." Tyler lifted his left hand from the steering wheel long enough to rub his fingers over his eyes. "It's been a long day. I'm tired."

"So am I."

"I thought we'd stay at Gram's at least a week, if not longer. We'd get caught up on sleep, research the Fourth Branch and maybe even find a way out of this mess."

"That would have made for a dull chapter in my book."

Chuckling, Tyler turned to smile at Jay. "True enough. Though we could have used recipes as filler, starting with those pork chops you made yesterday." He shook his head; the pork chops already seemed a century in the past. "I never did get my piece of cake."

"And I never made sandwiches. I don't know if Marlow was already in the kitchen or what. It's like she appeared out of nowhere."

Seeing a light begin to blink on the lower right of the car ahead of them, Tyler switched on his own turn signal. "Well, it's not as if law school included classes on _How to Evade FBI Agents."_

"School curricula are never practical."

"It looks like they finally found a place to stay," Tyler observed as he turned into the driveway of a mid-level hotel chain. Following Will's directions from earlier, Tyler avoided the loop to the main entrance. Instead, he stayed on the fringes of the parking lot and circled to the back of the complex. There were fewer cars than in the front, but enough that theirs didn't look out of place.

Leaving the motor running, Tyler put the car in park and switched off the lights. Whether it was the bagged wet clothes or general dampness or something else, the interior had begun to smell like musty socks. He lowered both of the front windows a few inches to increase air circulation. The smell of rain lingered in the cool night breeze that flowed into the car.

"I wonder how long we'll stay here," he said, rubbing his eyes again.

"Overnight, at least."

"I would hope so." Tyler activated the light on his watch and stared hard at the numbers that were revealed. "It's already half past eleven." He canted his head so that he was facing Jay. "Will said I could call Gabe tomorrow to make sure his friend got home. I didn't like that I had to ask him for help--and I sure as hell didn't want to drag someone else into our mess."

"That's how I felt about Kim. It's like night and day knowing that she's safe."

xxx

A scratching sound woke Kim from a restless sleep. By the time she was awake enough to remember where she was, two men wearing masks had entered the small hut. That their cloaked faces were covered frightened her to the core. They lumbered deeper into the cramped space, filling it as if they carried the girth of giants. _Fee, fi, fo, fum_… The phrase slithered out of the dark recesses of her mind. Before she knew what she was doing, she screamed.

Ignoring her, one blocked her access to the door, while the other placed two buckets on the floor. He retrieved the original buckets, before they faded away as quickly as they had come.

"No, no," she wailed, wanting them back despite the fear their appearance had invoked. "It's a mistake. I don't belong here." She scrambled to her feet, ran to the door, and pounded on it with her fists. "Please, come back. Please."

"Nooo…" Her voice trailed off to a whimper as her body collapsed in a heap. She found herself crawling into the nearest corner and huddling against it the way a baby tried to conform to the contours of its mother's body. But the corner was hard and harsh and only served to intensify her feeling of total abandonment.

Her senses told her this living nightmare was never going to end.

xxx

Gabriel poured a generous amount of whiskey into a squat glass and walked to the window that faced the park. The street lights glowed faintly in the residual mist, basking the street in a ghostly luminescence. After a first, delicate sip he put the glass to his lips and tossed down the remainder in one swallow. The mellow warmth that he'd hoped would follow didn't materialize. His conscience remained as prickly as a cactus. He should have called Jess as soon as he walked in the door, if not hours earlier. Now it was almost too late, with the witching hour drawing near. He might wake her, or her roommate.

_Stop looking for an excuse_, he scolded himself. _Something happened or she would have called you._

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his phone and set it to dialing. She answered on the third ring. "Hello, Gabriel." The cool remoteness of her voice told him two things: she hadn't been sleeping and she was upset.

His suddenly dry mouth could only summon up a whisper to ask, "What happened?"

"You mean after you lied to me?"

His first instinct was to argue that it had been more a sin of omission than a lie, but he squelched the urge and uttered a short "Yes." He could feel his spirits drooping. Her friendship had been the one bright spot in the turmoil that had greeted his return.

"I gave the briefcase to your brother."

So she'd seen Tyler and made the delivery. "Thank you." Cursing himself, Gabe switched the phone to his other hand. "Jess, I'm sorry. What I did was wrong. I've been kicking myself all day."

"Men shot at us!"

"What? Where? Are you all right? What about Tyler?"

"It happened at the nursing home. We're both okay."

Gabriel thought about the confrontation at the park two nights earlier. He should have anticipated that additional violence was possible before he put Jess in danger. "This shouldn't be happening," he said, wishing that his words could banish the insanity that had begun with the Drexler bombing.

"Well, it is happening. You'll get a chance to explain your part in it when my father contacts you."

"You told him?"

"I didn't have to. Goodbye, Gabriel."

Her _goodbye_ had the sharp finality of a guillotine slicing through human flesh.

Gabe directed his feet back to the wet bar. This time he didn't bother with a glass, he simply opened the whiskey and carried it to a chair. Slumping into its soft folds, he put the bottle to his lips and tilted it up. Maybe his Dad was right; maybe it was time to let Tyler handle his own problems.

xxx

When he saw Marlow walk out of the motel, alone and appearing at ease, Will relaxed his grip on the gun in his lap. He hadn't expected any trouble while she booked accommodations, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Marlow slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "They don't have suites, so I got two rooms with a connecting door. I told the clerk that I didn't want to be bothered by traffic noise when I requested rooms in the rear. I think I could have requested rooms on the moon and he wouldn't have given it a second thought. He was more interested in getting back to the television set in the sitting area."

He nodded, only half hearing what she said. The motel room would get them off the road for the night, but there was still tomorrow and the day after that and the weeks to follow. They needed a place to hole up while his wound healed and the search for Jay and Tyler died down.

After circling the motel Marlow swung the car into a parking place in the back. "Two twenty-six and two twenty-seven. They should be to the left."

Two hundred rooms would be on the upper floor. Will glanced that way as he got out of the car. Leaning against the passenger door, he studied the facade of the motel. It was two stories high with two buildings set at right angles to each other. They met at an open stairwell that served both buildings. There were additional staircases at regular intervals. Walkways offered outside access to each room. Lighting was minimal, with three security lights in the parking lot and a smattering of pale, yellowish bulbs scattered about each building. He couldn't pinpoint individual room numbers, but he saw enough to know the location was as safe as they were likely to find. The multiple sets of stairs, open walkways, and passages that led to the front meant they'd have more than one way out if they had to make a run for it.

Marlow walked around the car to stand next to him. "Traveler."

"Yes?"

"How bad are you?"

"It could be worse."

"Bullet?"

"Yes."

"Mine?"

"Yes." He cut off further questions with one of his own. "You have keys?" She retrieved two plastic cards from a side pocket and handed them to him. "Tell Jay and Tyler to park in this section; move your car to the front. I'll check out the rooms."

He waited until she started across the parking lot to push off the car and head to the nearest set of stairs. It felt as if anchors were attached to each foot, impeding his ability to move. The trick was not to stop. Even if his progress was limited to slow shuffles, Einstein's law of motion would carry him forward, while stopping was tantamount to turning into a stone pillar.

In retrospect, his trek to the beach and plunge into the water might not have been the most prudent of decisions. His uncle had warned him that he would experience days like this.

_Eleven years earlier..._

_Stephen could barely contain his euphoria as he spun the motorcycle to an abrupt stop that sent sand spraying across the barren Arizona landscape. He hopped from the bike, flipping it onto its stand in almost the same motion, and whipped off his helmet. _

_His lips were caked with a mix of dust and sweat, but that didn't stop him from crying out, "Fuckin' awesome!"_

_Uncle David was beside him almost before Stephen realized he was moving. He backhanded the left side of his face and sent him tumbling to the ground. "That's for your unbridled arrogance. And this..." he slammed the steel toe of his boot into Stephen's hip, "is for your unbridled tongue. What in hell were you thinking?"_

_Stephen bristled, his back arching. "Because I jumped that dune instead of following you around it? Shit! That was nothing. I was in total control."_

"_Total control, my ass. You couldn't see the landing area from where you took off. There might have been rocks. The drop might have been greater than you were anticipating."_

"_I would have compensated." Stephen swept to his feet, deliberately putting himself closer to his uncle rather than farther away. _

"_So now you're challenging me?" David's voice was a low growl. "Six weeks. I've been here six weeks and you haven't learned a thing."_

_Stephen's jaw dropped in disbelief. How could his uncle say that? He'd absorbed every lesson on every subject, without ever needing anything repeated. Look at how quickly he'd mastered the motorcycle!_

"_You're an undisciplined brat, and your mouth is still as a foul as a backed-up sewer." _

"_And yours isn't?"_

_David moved to swat him again, but this time Stephen was ready. He ducked under the blow and danced to the right. _

"_You think you can do anything. Which makes you an idiot. No matter how smart you are, boy, no matter how clever or how tough, everyone has limitations." _

"_I don't!"_

Despite the ass-kicking his uncle had delivered, he hadn't retracted those words.

Of course, his uncle had been right, as he was about most things during those early months when Stephen had alternately adored and despised him.

And while time and experience had tempered his youthful arrogance, it hadn't dampened his tendency to take risks. Much of the time, those risks had reaped rewards. As for this time… well, he was confident that he'd make it to the room without collapsing, and that was good enough.

xxx

"I'm coming. I'm coming." Gabe staggered to the door and pulled it open before remembering that he was in his father's penthouse, where visitors were supposed to be screened by the lobby attendant before being allowed access to the building proper. No one should have arrived at the door unannounced.

"It's you," he said, stepping aside for Special Agent Chambers. "I should have known. Are you here to arrest me?"

"I haven't decided."

"Well, you might need a helping hand or two," Gabe said. Weaving like a rudderless sailboat, he led the way into the living room and dropped into a chair. "I'm not too steady on my feet. I might be drunk."

Chambers stooped down and snagged a bottle from the floor by the chair. Straightening, he read the label, "Chevis Regal. Seems like a waste of good whiskey to guzzle it."

"About Jess..."

"Don't. Say. Her. Name." Chambers' voice had an edge that would have made the sharpest knife appear dull. "Or I might forget that I'm here as an FBI agent." He glided over to a sideboard and swept his arm over its surface, sending a Waterford vase crashing to the marble floor.

The message conveyed by the willful destruction was obvious: this vase could have been you. In all of his months in Iraq Gabe had never felt as vulnerable as he did now. He tried to mask his unease with feigned nonchalance. "Wh--what can I do for you?"

"How did your brother contact you?"

_Shouldn't answer. Should call a lawyer. He's Jess's father. I almost got her killed. Tyler almost got her killed. _

"E-mail," he said, then proceeded to answer the rest of Chamber's questions as honestly and as thoroughly as he could.

xxx

After stripping off everything but his underwear Tyler flopped onto the bed and tried to make himself comfortable. The mattress was lumpy, pockmarked with hills and valleys that bore witness to the passage of hundreds of bodies over the years. The depression on the side nearest the night stand was deeper, marking it as the preferred resting place for single occupants. It was an effort to wiggle out of the trough and roll into the less defined hollow on the right.

"I can't sleep," he announced to the world at large. Well, really, to Jay, who was exiting the closet-size bathroom with one towel wrapped around his middle and another draped over his shoulders to catch the water dripping from his hair.

"Twenty minutes ago you were so tired you were tripping over your own feet." Jay picked his way around the bags and clutter scattered about the floor, retrieved the blue knapsack and dumped its contents onto his bed.

"I ate too much." Nothing had satisfied him. Not the ham sandwich or the chips or the huge slice of chocolate cake. Belatedly, he'd recognized that the craving he'd been trying to satisfy wasn't hunger.

"Where are the packages of underwear that Will bought in New York?" Jay asked. "There's nothing here but sweats and jeans."

"In the other pack. I stuck it in the closet."

Jay's shape flowed in front of Tyler's bed to the alcove near the door. "Got them," he said a few seconds later. "Now I just need to find my toothbrush. I hope it isn't in a bag in the other room."

"I put each of our toiletries into a..." Tyler paused to yawn, "separate ziplock bag. Gave Will his. Yours should be on the desk." He lifted his head and looked in that direction. "Check under the potato chips."

Jay had no sooner started for the table when he yelped and lurched for the nearest chair. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Lifting his right foot into his lap, he began to probe the end of it. "I hope I didn't break my toe. This place is a mess."

"I know."

"And it's freezing. I don't think the heater is working."

"I know." Tyler tucked his arms under his head. "And the pillow is hard as a brick. And the bed sucks. If my father was a real father instead of a lying bastard, we'd be in a luxury resort in Switzerland instead of this dump."

Jay lowered his foot to the floor. "I think it's just bruised."

"Correction, if my father wasn't a lying bastard, I wouldn't have been in the Drexler last week because I'd never have been in student housing at Yale. I wonder when he decided that I was expendable." Jay had ducked back into the bathroom, so Tyler raised his voice as he continued. "The Yale decision was over two years ago."

Jay slipped out of the bathroom. "It's feeling better."

"You're fussing about a toe? Have you heard anything I said? My father wanted me… wants me dead."

"Yeah, I know." Jay sat on the edge of the bed and faced Tyler across a gap that was less than two feet wide. "Look, it's not you. It's him. There's something the matter with him." He tapped his head. "In here. He's warped, sick, twisted, I don't know."

"I was thinking. The last time I saw him, in his limo, he gave me a chance to get away."

"Yes?"

"Will said they kept him in the dark about the final plans until close to the end. Maybe it was the same with my father. Maybe he didn't know what was going to happen until it happened. And he might not have known about Ellington, either."

"Maybe..." Jay fluffed the comforter, sending the clothes he'd dumped onto the bed to the floor.

Tyler waited until Jay had crawled into bed and switched off the light to add, "Maybe he'll even help us."

"That would be nice."

"Or maybe he won't." Rolling onto his side, Tyler closed his eyes and made an effort to shut off his brain. But the hard pillow and the bumpy mattress kept reminding him that his life had taken a deep downward spiral. It was a long time before he slid into peaceful nothingness.

xxx

Eyes slipping shut, head falling forward, Chambers exerted his will and jerked himself upright. His hand automatically reached for the cup resting on a sandstone coaster to his right. He drank deeply of the cold, stale coffee. He couldn't remember when he'd brewed the pot. An hour ago? Two hours ago? Longer? It didn't matter, not as long as it provided the caffeine jolt he needed to get through his notes one last time before depositing his weary body in bed.

He stabbed his pen onto his notebook and swiped harsh lines through Rutherford and Markowitz's names. They were missing. Probably dead. Which would spare him the trouble of killing them himself. They shouldn't have been shooting anywhere near _his_ daughter. Was it stupidity on their part or was it something more sinister? He knew they'd spoken to Rosalind. He tucked that thought away for future consideration. But until he had an answer, _his_ people–legitimate FBI agents–would be protecting Jessie.

The brought him to Jessie and her errand for Gabriel Fog. Traveler hadn't appeared to be injured when he'd single-handedly freed Kim Doherty nor when he'd dealt with Benson and Davenport at Central Park. And who, if not Traveler, was capable of making Rutherford and Markowitz disappear? But if he was fine and the delivery was a setup to kidnap Jessie, why had they let her go?

When he'd spotted Jessie with Fog on the security recording, his immediate assumption was that they'd use Jessie to trade for Kim. But they hadn't.

Thinking back, Chambers had been expecting to catch more than a minnow when he'd dangled Kim's mother as bait. Where were Burchell, Fog and Traveler when Whaley's team had grabbed Kim? Shouldn't one or more of them have been with her?

The circle of questions continued to spiral aimlessly. He was missing something, or more than one thing, but a fresh approach was eluding his sluggish brain. Flipping his notebook closed, Chambers decided to call it a night. With Jessie sleeping safely upstairs his main concern was satisfied. Everything else could wait until morning.

xxx

The low mourn of faraway sirens pulled Marlow across the border that separated sleep from wakefulness. Hazy dreams slipped back into her subconscious without leaving an imprint as she blinked open her eyes to a new day.

She spotted Traveler almost immediately, slouched in an upholstered chair on the far side of the room. He'd tilted the shade of the lamp by the chair so that the light was focused away from her and onto the pages of the thick book that rested on his lap.

She'd barely twitched, but his attention turned to her as if she'd set off fireworks to announce that she was awake. Tapping a tablet on the table beside him, he said, "We need a computer to follow up on the notes we've made."

It sounded like he expected her to run right out to the nearest electronics store. "I'll take care of it," she said. "Later." The tone of his voice had her thinking he might argue the delay, but he simply nodded and returned his attention to his book.

Traveler looked marginally better than he had the night before. A little less drawn. A little less pale. It was probably the result of the IV fluids and sleep.

_And isn't he a lucky, little fugitive to have a person show up who could find a vein in someone who was dehydrated? _

If she hadn't worked in her dad's vet clinic, she wouldn't have come close to succeeding at that task.

Marlow glanced at the clock on the night stand. _Eight-thirty. _It felt earlier. Probably because she'd been operating on short sleep for over a week.

As she rolled out of bed, her hands automatically smoothed the t-shirt that drooped over men's boxers. Since she hadn't thought to pack a just-in-case overnight bag, she'd had to make do with borrowed clothing.

She cruised to the closet where she'd hung her clothes to dry and gave each item a shake after she removed it from its hanger. The wrinkle-free fabric of her suit wasn't much the worse for wear, and the jacket would hide the less-pristine state of her cotton blouse. Not that the condition of her outfit was cause for concern; it wasn't as if her new allies were going to critique her wardrobe.

It didn't take her long to freshen up and change into her own clothes. When she returned to the bedroom, the heavy drapes were open and light filtered in through the still-closed privacy shears. Thumps and the rattle of water pipes from the adjoining room told her that Burchell, Fog or both of them were stirring.

Seeing her attention focused on the connecting wall, Traveler said, "I woke them. We need to make plans." He'd exchanged the sweat pants and white t-shirt he'd worn to bed for jeans and a dark blue hoody. He was half reclined on his bed, leaning against a mound of pillows and holding a USA Today in his hands. She remembered a sign at check-in that said copies were available in the lobby. So he'd been out and about.

She studied him critically as she walked to his bed. "Do you want me to take a look at your wound?"

"That's not necessary. I changed the bandage earlier." He pointed to the abandoned IV setup that was jury rigged to the reading light above him. "You seemed to know what you were doing last night. Part of your FBI training?"

"No. My dad is a vet. I worked for him for two summers while I was in college. It was enough to teach me a few basic procedures and to tell me that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps."

Marlow set about making coffee. She was downing a second cup when Fog and Burchell stumbled into the room. Fog had on jeans but no shirt, socks or shoes, while Burchell was fully dressed. Worry lines creased their faces and dark circles made it seem as if their eyes were buried in deep pits. They weren't the fresh-faced college boys she'd encountered in lower Manhattan the day of the Drexler.

"Coffee," Fog said and made a beeline for the pot. He poured two cups, stirred in sugar and creamer and passed one to Burchell.

Marlow was about to start a second pot when the crackling of hastily-moved newspaper caught her attention. Traveler was on his feet and walking toward her.

"Did you know about this?"

He was pointing to a short article in the lower right corner of an inside page. The headline read _Drexler Mom Released from Hospital_.

Marlow skimmed the story. "I'm glad Kim's mother is okay. Yes, I knew about it. It was a hit and run."

"Her mom! Let me see." Burchell slammed his cup onto the desk, grabbed the paper and scanned the article. "What the hell? I need to talk to Kim."

Traveler was already dialing the phone. His conversation was short, terse and in Russian.

"She's not there."

"What do you mean she's not there?" Burchell's voice was filled with panic.

"She left two days ago. Ran out. Said her mother needed her."

"That doesn't make sense," Marlow said. "The FBI would have picked her up if she went to the hospital. We'd have heard something."

"Unless someone got to her first." Burchell balled the newspaper and threw it across the room. "Damn it to hell. I should have checked on her. I thought she was safe."

"Maybe she's hiding somewhere else." Tyler's voice was gentle and concerned.

"Where?"

"With family, with a friend. Someone who could give her personal reports on her mother. I'll ask Gabe to check."

"No! I can't wait for Gabe to hire an investigator. She might be in danger. I'm going to New York." Jay started for the connecting door.

Moving with the easy grace and deceptive speed of a jungle cat, Traveler slid over to block his way. "Jay, it's okay."

"Okay? Okay!" Burchell shook his head. "Nothing is okay."

"Jay." Traveler took hold of Burchell's arms and focused on him with eyes that were filled with steely resolve. "Listen to me. I'll find her. I'll take care of it. I promise."

Marlow recognized what he was doing, had seen her father do it with more than one trembling, panicked animal. He was projecting his emotions into Burchell with a quiet intensity that was more fierce than fire-red anger.

At first, it seemed as if Burchell wouldn't respond. He looked lost in his own world, consumed by near-hysterical worry. Then his shoulders sagged and his head drooped. "How?"

"How can I reach Chambers?" Traveler directed the question to Marlow as he walked to the desk and picked up the phone.

"This time of day. He's most likely in his office." Marlow rattled off the number that would provide a direct connection.

She'd thought Traveler's promise to Burchell had been insane, impossible to keep, especially by someone who had had trouble remaining upright just the night before. But as she watched him dial, an almost otherworldly transformation took place. His shoulders squared and his face sharpened, projecting lethal intent. And she began to doubt her own doubts.

Traveler's expression didn't change as he began to speak, "Chambers, listen carefully. I'm only going to say this once. There's going to be an exchange. Me and the painting for Kim Doherty. I'll call you in four hours with instructions."

-end of episode 8-


	9. Chapter 9

Traveler: Season Two

Episode 9: The Execution

_You can't replace preparation and execution with emotion and hope to make it. There was a lot of passion at the Alamo, and they all died. _P. King

The masked men returned, barging through the wooden door with a fierceness that sent Kim skittering, crab-like, into the far corner of her cramped prison. Quaking inside and out, she still managed to stammer, "P-please don't hurt me. I don't belong here. There's been a mistake."

"Stand up," the taller of the two men ordered. When Kim continued to cower he reached down and grabbed her wrist. "Do as you're fuckin' told." As he yanked her to her feet pain soared up her arm and exploded in her shoulder. "Turn around."

Before she could comply, rough hands spun her about. She could feel her composure crumpling as one man held her still while the other pulled her hands behind her back and bound her wrists with a coarse rope that chafed her skin.

"Don't do this," she begged. "There's been-"

A hand crashed into her temple, cutting off her plea. "Shut up, bitch."

With her senses topsy turvy from the blow, Kim could only manage a quiet mewl as the men secured an oily cloth over her face. The fumes burned her eyes and caused her to sputter and gag. Ignoring her plight, they half carried and half dragged her out of the shack. She stumbled across what felt like uneven soil for perhaps as long as five minutes before her right foot struck something hard. She would have tripped and fallen if her captors weren't supporting her. When she recovered her equilibrium, the surface beneath her feet had changed. There was no give. It was solid and level, something man made.

Weak from hunger and thirst she did her best to keep up as their pace increased. Her strength was waning when she banged into something, hitting it first with her toes then her ankle. There was a confusion of movement around her and the pressure on her arms changed slightly, pulling her upward as well as forward. It took two more bruising collisions before she realized that she was on a staircase and reoriented her movement to accommodate the climb. Her captors paused at what she judged to be the top of the steps and freed her wrists. She could hear a mumble of voices, but she was too tired to sort the sounds into words.

"Come on." Those words were loud and clear and accompanied by a tugging that confirmed they were directed at her. She was swept along in a rush and couldn't take a step without an arm, knee or hip bumping into something on one side or the other. By the time she was thrown into a cushioned chair, the relief of journey's end overwhelmed her. So several minutes passed before her senses pieced together where she was. The stairs, the narrow passageway, an identical cushioned seat to her right and a padded object an arm's length in front of her. A plane! She was in the cramped seat of an airplane.

xxx

A siren wound its way through Fred Chambers' head, a shrieking wail that would have put heavy metal decibels to shame. He pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth. A dozen breaths later, the piercing faded to a dim hum, but the pain it left in its wake had the feel of a battering ram slamming against the inside of his skull.

Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin and yanked on the child-proof lid until it popped free. He poured three pills into his hand, tossed them into his mouth and began to swallow before he realized that both his coffee cup and water glass were empty. Gulping, he forced the pills down dry, then headed to the water cooler in the outer office.

It had been another long night, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was no longer a young man. No matter how hard he worked to stay fit, prolonged sleep deprivation took its toll.

He snatched one of the paper cups that were stacked on top of the water cooler and stuck it under the spigot, letting the chilled water flow until it was almost full. It took two long swallows before the sensation of grit in his esophagus abated. He continued to sip at the remainder as he made his way to the break room. The carafe resting on their sole coffee maker was marked with the orange band that signified a caffeine-free brew. Cursing the agent who had chosen to make decaf rather than regular, he shifted his attention to the nearby vending machine. He knew from experience that the sludge it dispensed resembled coffee in name only, but at least it would be heavily caffeinated, and that was exactly what he needed. He was about to feed the machine a dollar bill when he spied movement out of the corner of his left eye.

A slim, dark-haired man joined him in the room.

"Sheehan," Chambers barked to the newcomer, "make coffee, real coffee. Now."

The young agent jerked to a stop before spitting out, "Coming right up."

"Two creams, no sugar, and it better be in my office in five minutes or less."

"Yes. Sir." Sheehan grabbed the carafe and started for the sink. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "we need one of those Kuerig machines, the kind where you can make individual cups of whatever blend you prefer."

_Out of the mouths of babes! _"Get us one. Don't put in a requisition. That would take months. Buy it and I'll see that you get reimbursed, if I have to do it personally."

Chambers took the long route back to his cubicle, rolling his shoulders to work kinks out of the muscles in mid back that tended to stiffen up without warning. The office had settled down; early morning chatter had subsided and agents were locked to computers, paper work or phones, concentrating on individual aspects of the investigation. He might have taken the time to bask in pride at the well-honed efficiency of his unit if he weren't so tired and harried.

Traveler's call had disrupted his morning in the manner of a grenade whose pin had just been pulled. In order to prevent the situation from exploding Chambers had reacted with swift, instinctive resolve. He'd sent agents to Jessie's early morning class to take her into protective custody. He'd lined up Fourth Branch personnel to be on standby for what might turn out to be a major operation. And without consulting Rosalind he'd ordered Kim Doherty onto a plane. He didn't trust Traveler, and he wasn't sure the exchange was a good idea–look at what had happened to Jack Freed-but he wanted to be prepared if he decided to go ahead with it.

His initial actions had taken the better part of an hour. Now he was left with the hard part: the waiting.

xxx

Tyler's fingers tapped a silent, restless beat on the cushioned arm of his chair while he studied the unchanging tableau around him. The motel room exuded the eerie atmosphere of the calm before a storm. Standing sentinel-like by the window, Marlow held the curtain back just enough to allow a view of the outside walkway and the parking lot beyond. Jay was in the chair to Tyler's left, his head pressed against its worn upholstery, his face pale and strained.

While the two queen-size beds were in disarray, everything else was orderly. The food had been sorted, and Marlow had taken an over-ripe banana, an assortment of slimy cold cuts, and other discards to the hotel dumpster. The rest was bagged except for the open package of Oreos that Tyler had nibbled on for breakfast. The cooler, packed with fresh ice, was beside the door, with their backpacks lined up in a neat row next to it.

They talked about transferring everything to Gabe's SUV, but they didn't know if Will's plan included abandoning the rooms. They didn't know anything. In typical Will fashion he'd put on shoes and a jacket, grabbed Marlow's car keys from the night stand, and headed for the door, flinging a brief "I need to pick up a few things" at them as he left.

"He's back," Marlow said, her voice gritty with undisguised vexation.

She let her emotions vent when Will slipped in the door. "Where have you been for the last hour and a half? You can't just take off without telling us where you're going or how long you'll be gone. Are we working together or aren't we?"

"That's up to you," was Will's taut reply. He pulled a laptop computer out of a bag, plopped it on the desk and had it powering up before Marlow responded with a delayed exhalation that was second cousin to a cat's hiss.

Tyler might have been amused by Marlow's irritation–her reaction to Will so closely mirrored the frustration he'd felt a few days earlier–if Jay wasn't suffering the misery of the damned. The last thing any of them needed was more conflict.

"Marlow, it's okay," he said, attempting to diffuse the situation. The glare she directed his way told him he hadn't come close to succeeding, so he tried again. "I mean... well, Will's an exasperating bastard, but...," he shrugged helplessly, "you'll get used to it."

"We'll see about that."

_That didn't work so well, _Tyler told himself. He watched as Marlow began to pace in a small circle that took her from the window to the nearer bed and back again. Her eyes kept returning to the dresser where Will had thrown the keys to her rental car, but she didn't make a move to retrieve them.

After four or five tight circuits she sat on the edge of the bed and settled her hands in her lap, fingers twined tightly about each other. Her shoulders and upper chest rose and fell slowly, consistent with an attempt to calm an irritated psyche.

"All right, Traveler," she finally said. "When you're ready, you tell us what's going on."

As if on cue Will jabbed his finger at the computer screen. "Here." He waited until all of them had gathered around him to study the image on display to add, "We're going here."

"Spruce Valley?" Tyler said as he identified the snow-covered hillside pictured on the screen. "It went bankrupt last winter." Inane chatter, to be sure, but he didn't know how else to express his confusion. What did a closed ski resort have to do with any of their problems?

Jay summarized the block of text that accompanied the graphic: "There's going to be an auction next month, skis, furnishings, everything not tied down." He grabbed Will's arm, attempting to gain his attention. "What the hell?" he said, his voice rising shrilly. "Count me out of whatever scheme you're hatching. I need to find Kim."

"That's exactly why we're going there. Spruce Valley is the perfect place to set up an exchange. I'll explain on the way." Will shrugged off Jay's hold and rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the room with an intentness that Tyler had been familiar with even before the Drexler. "Good. You've got everything packed. Get anything you might need in the next few hours. The rest goes in Marlow's trunk. Jay, you'll ride with her. Tyler, you and I are on lead in the Jeep."

xxx

The small jet soared through thick clouds that isolated it from the outside world. If it weren't for the thrumming engines that grounded the flight to reality, Kim might have thought she was floating through a dream. A very scary dream, to be sure.

When they'd removed the irritating cloth from her face, she saw that the two masked men had been replaced by two unmasked but no less gruff men. One had squeezed her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise while warning her not to give them any trouble. The men had settled in seats near the front, leaving her alone in the middle of the plane.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed after takeoff before she'd dared to slide into the window seat and open the shade. By then the plane was already surrounded by impenetrable mist.

"Hey, you!"

Kim's heart skipped a beat and she reached for the shade, sure she was about to be reprimanded for opening it. Before she could pull it closed a duffle bag was thrown onto the seat next to her. Timorously, she looked up to meet eyes that were dark and friendless. The man pointed to the bag, then jerked his head toward the back of the plane.

It took her several seconds to overcome her initial panic and decipher his gestures: he wanted her to move, to take the bag somewhere. She released the seatbelt, grabbed the bag with her left hand and attempted to slip past the looming thug without touching him. But her arm brushed his, sending her into a second panic. She scurried toward the rear, sensing him close on her heels.

There was single door opposite the rearmost seats. He didn't react when she grasped the tiny handle, so she slid it open, not daring to hope that it was anything other than a new prison. When she saw what was on the other side, a welling of tears filled her eyes.

The cramped confines of an airplane bathroom had never looked so good.

She darted inside, closed and locked the door, then leaned against it. In a sense it _was _another small prison, but it was one that she welcomed.

xxx

Gabriel Fog rolled over in bed and immediately wished he hadn't. The slight movement sent waves of nausea rolling through his stomach. If that wasn't bad enough, his tongue was thick with muck and his mind was swirling.

_Gods, what have I done to myself?_

Drank too much for one. Behaved with uncharacteristic diffidence, two. Ruined his life, three.

Well, maybe not the last, not yet, but it felt as if he were headed in that direction.

_Shit!_

He was rattled and uncharacteristically uncertain about what to do next. Fubars of this nature simply didn't happen to him. He'd always made the right choices: school, career, friends. It was a smooth progression of unabashed success. Furthermore, he'd worn the privilege of being a Fog–which would have been so easy to abuse–with what he'd believed to be unpretentious grace. So what in the name of hades had he done to deserve this? Yes, he'd put Jess in a bad situation, but not by design. He'd only been trying to help Tyler.

_Fuck._

xxx

Kim kept her eyes averted from the mirror while she scrubbed at the accumulated layers of grime and sweat. It was a long process that depleted the entire stock of paper towels and left her skin feeling as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper. She didn't care; the irritation simply enhanced the sensation of being clean. At last.

She continued to avoid her reflection as she sorted through the small stack of clothes she'd removed from the duffle: underpants, a sports bra, a gray sweat suit, and socks. Thankfully, the bathroom was stocked with a variety of feminine products. She pressed a pad to her new panties before slipping into them. She didn't let herself think about the flow of blood that made the pad a necessity.

Sometime during the routine of putting pristine clothes on a clean body, her panic and fright gave way to blessed numbness. Only then did she turn in the direction of the mirror. A sallow face surrounded by tangled, wet hair stared back at her. The blue eyes were dull and listless but not quite lifeless. "Kim." The word was a hesitant whisper. It was surely Kim, but not one that she'd ever seen before.

A pounding against the door reverberated through the small room.

"What's taking so long? Get your ass out here. Now."

Her fear reignited in an instant, hampering her ability to control the muscle movements necessary to unlock the door. Her fingers fumbled with the mechanism for what felt like an eternity before they managed to release the bolt.

"About time."

The hulking figure gave her a shove as she entered the cabin. It propelled her down the corridor toward the front. Moving as quickly as her feet could carry her, she found her seat, identifying it by the still-raised shade, and stumbled into it. She didn't allow herself to relax until the man had regained his own seat. Then the captive air in her lungs exited in a relieved _whoosh_.

_Okay, I'm safe, at least for now. _

She controlled the urge to panic, knowing she had to conserve her energy for whatever was to come. She couldn't allow herself to hope that the opportunity to clean up was a good sign and that this flight would end in her release. Nor would she allow herself to despair over the cavalierly cruel behavior of her captors that suggested her welfare was of little concern. She needed to stay focused on the moment and let the future unfold without expectations.

After fastening the seatbelt she closed her eyes. The rhythmic vibration of the plane wove a soothing pattern through her worn senses. Sooner than she would have thought possible, she fell asleep.

xxx

Carlton brightened when he saw Gabriel enter the room. But one look at his son's drawn face sent his spirits plummeting. "What's the matter?"

Gabe pulled the visitor's chair next to the bed and sat down, his head hanging low. "I didn't sleep well."

"Did Tyler contact you again?"

"No, not since yesterday." Gabriel brought his eyes up to meet Carlton's. "Yesterday's the problem. I didn't tell you everything. Tyler asked me to do something for him. I complied–what else could I do?–and the FBI found out."

"Gabriel!" Carlton jerked forward, his arm stretching toward his son. "Call our lawyers. I want an attorney-here, now-before someone shows up with a warrant."

"That's not necessary. They aren't going to arrest me. At least, I don't think that's the plan. I've already met with Chambers and told him everything. He seemed to be okay with that."

Carlton eased back slowly in deference to the band of pain that had tightened around his chest.

"I don't know what to do," Gabe continued. "It's gotten complicated. I just wanted to help Tyler."

"I know. I know. So did I and look where it got me. But son, isn't that the story of Tyler's life? He gets into scrapes and one of us has to pull him out. Only this time he's gotten himself into something so big that it's beyond our power to help." Carlton feigned a sigh. "I blame myself. If I had forced him to face his problems from early on, he would have learned... well, responsibility. He would have known better than to get mixed up in this nasty business."

Gabriel stiffened in the chair, his head twitching side to side in protest. "Dad, he's innocent. Tyler's not capable of hurting anyone."

"I'm not saying he knew what was going to happen at the Drexler, but he's involved. We have to stop denying that. He wouldn't be running if he weren't. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd and he doesn't know how to extricate himself."

"Maybe... I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything."

Carlton placed a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "You will be. I know you. I trust your judgment. You don't flinch when the going gets tough. Let me give you a piece of advice. Set aside your emotional ties to your brother and focus on the facts."

"The facts..." The words were soft, low, thoughtful.

"If the suspect wasn't Tyler... if you had the same body of evidence that you have now and a stranger was involved, would you think he was innocent or guilty?"

Pain washed over Gabriel's face and a whispery moan slipped from between his lips. He hesitated, staring pleadingly at his father, before finally acknowledging, "Guilty. I'd think he was guilty."

xxx

Conrad Mailer thumbed the stop button on the treadmill with his right hand while using his left to activate his mobile phone. _Anselmo. At last. _"What do you have for me?"

"I've been working on the name you pulled out of Fog's phone records: Jessica Chambers. She's a student at Columbia University. I tracked her down just in time to see two FBI agents pull her from class. I recognized her immediately as the girl who made the delivery." There was a slight pause before Anselmo added, "I wish I had reached her sooner; maybe we could have learned something."

Mailer grabbed a cotton robe from a hook on the wall and slipped into it. "I doubt that she would have told you anything. While you were looking for her, David did some research of his own. She's Fred Chambers' daughter."

"The agent in charge of the Drexler investigation... Now that's interesting. It explains why she was so calm. When the FBI took her into custody, her professor was irate, ranting that her rights were being violated, but she was fine with it. She told him not to worry."

"I don't think we can count on anything from the Chambers girl. She was obviously a tool–a particularly ironic one–that the young Fogs somehow brought into play. So where do we go from here?"

"Gabriel Fog. They've contacted him at least twice. With Doherty still missing, he's the best lead we have."

xxx

Marlow eased back on the gas pedal, slowing her speed to match Tyler's in the SUV. The GPS unit had already alerted her to an upcoming turn, so the deceleration wasn't unexpected. As she angled left onto a rural two-lane road that looked much like the one she was leaving, the phone rang.

Sitting in the passenger seat next to her, Jay Burchell took the call. She couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but it had to be Traveler. He'd been calling at semi-regular intervals to reconfirm the route they'd mapped out to Spruce Valley.

"I've got it," Jay said a second before he ended the connection. He spent another minute making an adjustment to their GPS unit, then set it on the tray between the front seats. "I've got a map," he said in a voice raspy with irritation. "I don't need reminders from Will."

"It never hurts to double check," Marlow said, trying to soothe Burchell's understandable edginess. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I wish I could believe that. Do you think Will's plan is going to work?"

"Assuming Chambers brings Kim to the resort, I think it's as good as it can get." Traveler's plan–that is, the skimpy outline he'd shared over speaker phone as they'd set out-wasn't without potential problems, but it wasn't as if they had any choice. None of them in good conscience could abandon Kim.

"Yeah... That's what I thought."

Jay swung his head toward the side window, a gesture meant to shut her out. Jan badly wanted to rattle off dozens of questions, but she knew that now wasn't the time and that Burchell wasn't her primary target for interrogation, anyway. That would be Traveler.

Traveler had locked onto Chambers as soon as he knew Kim was missing. He had to know he was dirty. But how? And what was with the painting? She'd looked at it, briefly, but not seen anything to suggest it held value other than as a famous piece of art.

She quelled additional questions before they could form. _Can't do anything about it now_, she told herself. _But as soon as we get through this_...

With that resolution fixed firmly in place, she switched on the car radio. A few clicks of the search button later, she lucked onto a station that was playing a bluesy jazz number. She didn't know the tune but that didn't stop her from humming along as she returned her concentration to the road and to the car in front of them.

xxx

Bright sun reflecting off the wing scorched Kim's eyes as she exited the plane. She raised a hand to shade her forehead before looking around. There wasn't much to see. A chain link fence surrounded what appeared to be a small airfield with a single runway and a cinder block building about the size of a convenience store. Trees loomed beyond the fence and there was no sense of what lay beyond them.

Her eyes tracked to the bottom of the stairs where two men in dark suits stood like silent sentinels. A poke in the back started her down the steps. She kept one hand on the rail to steady herself. _Don't panic_. _They wouldn't bring you all this way to kill you. _

_All this way..._

She felt well rested, suggesting she'd slept for longer than a quick cat nap. The air was cool and dry, and some of the trees sported a smattering of yellow foliage. She might not know where she was, but it felt a lot more like home than where she had been.

Deliberately, she slowed her descent, dragging each shoe over the rubber strips on the steps before lowering it to the next level. _What did this latest change in circumstance mean? What did any of this mean? _Her mind searched for answers that remained beyond her comprehension. Having no choice, she resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her as she stepped onto the tarmac.

"This way." The man on her right pointed to his right. As she turned, movement caught her eye. A man with a swift, purposeful stride was bearing down on the plane from the direction of the building. Even from a distance she had no trouble identifying him.

_Agent Chambers._

xxx

After crossing the Connecticut River their two car caravan traveled steadily west by northwest, shifting from one scenic Massachusetts byway to another. It was a gorgeous day, with the crispness of approaching autumn in the air. Bright sunbeams gave ashen fields a golden hue and deepened the green of every passing pasture and tree. Ahead of them, a clear blue sky framed the outline of the hills on the horizon. Everything was picture perfect. Even the air filtering into the car was beneficent, carrying the scent of ripe apples from the orchard that was rolling by on the left.

It was exactly the type of drive that normally soothed Tyler as effectively as a good massage. But sitting behind the wheel of Gabe's Jeep, he was stiff and tense with worry. Even with the brim of his baseball cap shading his face, his body wanted to crouch down whenever they came close to another car. And his heart pitter-pattered at the start of every blind curve or climb, sure that a police roadblock would materialize in the not-yet-visible stretch of road to follow.

Tyler would have appreciated a little conversation, maybe a joke or two, anything to provide a distraction to his concerns, but Will sat in total silence. Since Will had set the computer aside some ten minutes earlier, he'd slouched in the corner where the seat met the door with eyes closed and body unmoving. Tyler didn't think he was sleeping, but he couldn't be sure.

Reaching to his right, Tyler grasped his water bottle and felt the thin plastic crackle in his hand. He smiled as he realized that he had a legitimate reason to interrupt Will's solitude. "Would you grab me another water? This one's empty."

During the five beats that followed Will didn't move. Tyler's left hand tightened on the steering wheel as he pondered the situation. Maybe Will _was _sleeping. "Did you hear me?" he asked quietly just as Will finally stirred.

"I heard." After unbuckling his seatbelt, he reached through the space between the seats. Seconds later, he was twisting a bottle cap to break the seal.

Tyler slowed down as he put the water to his lips. "Thanks."

Will resurfaced from a second sojourn into the back with another bottle of water. He took the smallest of sips before placing it in the cup holder on his side of the center console.

Determined not to let the car sink back into gloomy silence, Tyler said, "How did you know that Chambers had Kim? She could have been anywhere."

"It was the only thing that made sense. A hit and run accident in the middle of the day in a residential neighborhood with slow speed limits and minimal traffic isn't very likely. It was a deliberate action. They did it to get Kim to expose herself. And it worked."

"Well, I'm glad her mom is going to be okay. Now we just need to get Kim back. You make it sound easy, but..."

"I never said it was going to be easy," Will cautioned. "A lot is going to depend on you."

"Me?"

"Jay isn't going to be thinking clearly. I'm counting on you to get him and Kim to where Marlow will be waiting. It's not that far from the resort, but there won't be roads or even a trail. As soon as we get there, we'll scout out a route, and you'll have the GPS and a compass as backup. But the less you have to stop and use either tool, the faster you'll travel. I can help you pick out landmarks, but you're the one who is going to have to remember them."

"Piece of cake," Tyler said. His innate sense of direction, even in the middle of nowhere, assured that he rarely got lost, as he'd demonstrated when he'd led Jay to Elysium, navigating the dark forest as easily as if they'd been walking along marked city streets in broad daylight. "Remember who led the way when we went off trail near Stowe?"

That brought what appeared to be a genuine smile to Will's face. "You were on the mark," he acknowledged.

"So," Tyler said, "I think we can agree that I can get Jay and Kim to Marlow. But, Will, what about you?"

Will patted the phone on his lap. "I told you. I'll call to set up a rendezvous point."

"I remember you said that, but I missed the part where you explained how you were going to get away from Chambers. It's not like you can hand him a _get out of jail free_ card and mosey along your way."

"Not to worry. I've got something more substantial than a Monopoly move in mind."

xxx

Under most circumstances Jess would have resented being sequestered in a small conference room in FBI headquarters without so much as a by-your-leave or explanation. Under most circumstances she would have spent the past few hours building up a nuclear holocaust of fury to unleash on her father, who was undoubtedly responsible.

But yesterday she'd betrayed him. She'd deliberately delayed providing him with information about a known fugitive. She'd put Tyler Fog, of all people, ahead of her dad. And that was why she was tolerating her confinement and accepting it as just punishment for her sin.

The ordinary activity of going to class this morning, even with a not-quite-invisible escort close on her heels, had almost allowed her to forget about her indiscretion. Getting pulled from class had ended her pretense at amnesia. The pair of agents hadn't even allowed her to return to her dorm for study material before directing her to a car and driving her to midtown. So here she sat with only her cell phone and one notebook to serve as distractions.

The cell phone was less than useless. She didn't want to answer the texts from friends who wanted to know where she was, because any response would have required her to 'fess up to yesterday's activities. And she certainly wasn't going to answer the voice mail or text messages from one Gabriel Fog. He was _so very sorry_. Well, yeah, he should be, for getting her involved with his infamous brother.

_Tyler... _

The surge of anger that accompanied any thought of Gabe remained quiescent when her thoughts turned to his brother. Which didn't make sense. Gabriel was a scumbag deceiver, but Tyler was a terrorist. Or so it was generally believed.

She hadn't believed it or she wouldn't have gone along with his request to remain silent about their meeting until she returned to New York. But as her dad pointed out, could she really trust her judgment? Was he the victim he appeared and claimed to be? Maybe not. Probably not. She'd already failed at deciphering another scion named Fog.

Sighing, she pushed her phone and notebook to the side and scooted the wheeled conference chair back from the table. They'd said to shout if she got hungry. It was past time to have them make good on that offer.

xxx

The Spruce Valley resort had closed with a whimper just two seasons into operation. It hadn't been able to compete with nearby facilities that were more luxurious, more challenging or both. Its trails were like popular novels, entertaining enough during the initial exposure, but easily forgotten. The planned condominium complex that would have provided upscale lodging for overnight visitors had never even broken ground.

Standing at the top of the mountain that housed both the intermediate and difficult trails, Will looked down at the buildings on the valley floor. The combined ski shop, restaurant and lounge was the only structure of significant size and the only one that had been open to the public. To its left was a cluster of three smaller buildings that housed the administration and storage areas.

"We're ready," Tyler called, drawing Will's attention to where Tyler and Jay were perched on matching all-terrain vehicles that were pointed toward the heavily treed slope on the undeveloped side of the mountain.

"Then get going," Will said with a wave of his hand.

Tyler twisted the key in the ignition. "See you soon," he yelled over the throbbing of the newly activated motor. He set off first, cloaked in a confidence that Will believed to be justified.

Earlier, Will had cobbled out a route that would take them to the highway rest stop that was the designated rendezvous point with Marlow. Tyler and Jay had doubled up on the second four-wheeler and followed him as he'd navigated his way through the forest. He'd been forced to backtrack several times; twice when they'd run into impenetrable undergrowth and a third instance when the slope had steepened to what he'd judged to be an unsafe angle. But in the end he'd been satisfied that the route wasn't unduly complex. Tyler had taken the lead for the return trip and had been a model of unerring efficiency. He'd navigated the twists and turns as smoothly as Will could have managed himself.

Both Jay and Tyler had argued that a second practice run wasn't necessary, but Will had insisted. If it ended up that bullets were flying during their exit, any hesitation might be fatal. Besides, it would keep them occupied. Busy soldiers didn't have time to brood or worry.

After they'd disappeared from sight Will turned on the ski lift and angled into the first passing chair. Below him, thick cables stretched to the valley floor, with the evenly spaced chairs dangling like charms attached to a particularly long bracelet.

So far, everything had gone as planned. As he'd expected to be the case, the resort property appeared to have undergone recent maintenance so that everything would present in the best possible light to prospective bidders. The four wheelers that had been listed in the inventory started up on the first try, and the chair lift glided with the smoothness of a Mercedes fresh from the showroom floor.

Reaching the bottom, Will leaned forward, tipping the seat just enough to allow him to step easily onto the ground. He slid to the right as the chair swung in the opposite direction to conform to the bottom curve.

A few clouds were moving in from west, puffy dots of white carried on a light breeze. As the prediction had suggested, weather wouldn't be a factor in the operation. Any disruptions would be man made. With that in mind, he directed his feet to the bench where he'd left a plastic grocery bag. Inside the bag was his _out_. And as he'd told Tyler, it was something more substantial than a Monopoly card.

xxx

"Where are we going?" Kim asked. "Please. You have to tell me."

Fred Chambers twisted around to face the backseat. "I don't have to tell you anything, Miss Doherty. You gave up your rights when you chose to involve yourself in your boyfriend's duplicity at Club Fervor. I'm beginning to think you were part of his band of terrorists from the beginning."

"I wasn't. That is... he isn't. None..." Kim let her voice trail off as Chambers turned away. He wasn't listening to her declarations of innocence and she sensed that he never would.

"Brady," Chambers spoke the name of the man who shared the backseat with Kim, "if she opens her mouth again, tape it shut."

Kim couldn't stop herself from glancing at the man to her right. Noting her attention, his beady eyes took on a lecherous glaze. "Maybe I should tape it now."

"And maybe you need to control your own mouth," Chambers reprimanded. "This is my operation. When I want input from you, I'll ask for it." Brady scowled but didn't protest.

Chambers' attention shifted to the man behind the wheel. "Ford, what do you make of this route?"

"Sun's directly in front of us, sir. If you eliminate the zigs and zags, we've traveled two-thirds the way around an ellipse. If the pattern continues, we'll find ourselves back in New York in time to catch a Broadway show."

"It's a deliberate delay," Chambers said. He brought a headset to his ear and spoke into it in a voice that was substantially louder than conversational level. "Where are you?"

The ordeal of the past hours and days–Kim had lost all track of time–had drained her to where it took a concentrated effort to follow Chambers' side of the conversation.

"I want you to refuel now. Is that a problem?" The lengthy stretch of silence told Kim that the answer to the question hadn't been a simple _yes_ or _no._ Eventually, Chambers spoke again. "All right. That should work. I don't expect anything to go down until dark. I'll have Chesku move his team in closer in case I'm wrong about the timing. Let me know when you're back in the air and I'll send you my coordinates."

xxx

Will's eyes scanned the items that he'd spread over the surface of a dining table in the canteen area of the main building. The Semtex, detonators and remote controlled initiators that he'd purchased from Jimmy provided him with enough raw material for four smallish bombs. They wouldn't be anywhere near big enough to do more than blow up a doorknob each, but since destruction wasn't their intended purpose that didn't matter.

Constructing explosives from these particular components was as familiar to him as walking up a flight stairs. His fingers started on the task without the need of prompting from his brain. As he neared completion of the first bomb, he found his thoughts wandering.

_Four years earlier..._

"_We're fuckin' fucked," Weapons Sergeant Sean Murphy said. _

_The words that floated out of the pitch darkness of their small prison were clear and ungarbled, telling his companion, Private Christopher Connor, that Murphy had managed to remove the tape from his mouth. Given Murphy's training, that didn't come as a surprise. _

"_You shouldn't have grabbed my gun," Murphy continued. "You're a fuckin' coward. We could have taken some of those bastards with us. We could have gone out quick and clean. Now it's going to be slow and nasty. What in the hell were you thinking when you surrendered?"_

"_Dead is dead."_

"_Dead is dead," Murphy echoed, sarcasm blending with anger to form a particularly damning strain of vitriol. "God, kid, you can't be that stupid. You'll be singing a different tune when they're using a dull knife to separate your head from your shoulders. How in the fuckin' hell did I get stuck with you? You're not even Special Forces; you don't belong in our unit."_

_Connor ignored the question as he continued to work on the ropes binding his ankles. The man who had secured his limbs had been as proficient with ankles as he'd been with wrists. Connor had had to temporarily dislocate his left thumb to free his hands. He didn't have that option with a foot._

_The hemp was so tightly woven that Connor had to pry his fingernails into the fiber to establish even a tentative purchase. Using a slow, steady motion, he pulled. There was a slight give before his nails lost their grip. Patiently, he repeated the process._

"_Did you hear me, Connor? You're worse than useless."_

_He and Murphy had worked well together. Until now. Connor couldn't blame him for his ire. In a recessed part of his mind, he was frightened himself. They'd all heard stories of insurgent brutality. The last thing any soldier wanted was to be taken captive. But he and Murphy had been trapped and greatly outnumbered. It had come down to surrender or a suicidal fight to the finish. Given a choice between capture, probable torture and a chance to live or a quick death, Connor knew he'd make the same choice every time. _

_The important thing now was for both of them to remain as calm as possible._

_In the pitch darkness he couldn't see Murphy, but he still found himself turning toward the spot where the other man's voice had originated as he asked, "Do you know where we are?"_

"_Where we are?" A short burst of strained laughter followed the question. "We're in a fuckin' hell hole... because of you."_

"_It's the hell hole we told HQ about."_

"_Wha–?" Stupid men didn't make it through Special Forces training. It only took Murphy half a second to make the connection. "The place that big meeting was to take place? The one the haji kid told us about?"_

"_One and the same." Connor grunted as he dug his index finger into the small space he'd worked between the ropes. "Assuming HQ believed the intel..."_

"_They'll be dumping a shit load of shake and bake on this place come dark." Murphy's voice lost its antagonistic edge. "Are you sure that's where we_ _are?"_

"_I picked up a few words when they pulled us out of the car. I'm sure."_

"_Maybe you aren't as useless as I thought. This could give us the edge we need." There was a scrabbling sound that suggested Murphy was moving around. "You free yet?"_

"_Will be in a minute."_

"_Make sure you position the ropes so it looks like you're still trussed up. Then sit tight and pray that chaos and confusion arrive on schedule."_

xxx

Chambers looked at the name on the incoming call and wished he didn't have to answer it. "Yes?"

Though Rosalind Freed was red, white and blue to the core, her way of expressing displeasure reminded Chambers of the prototypical image of a British nanny. The clipped precision of each word reprimanded more forcefully than a voice raised in anger. "I understand that Kim Doherty is back on U.S. soil."

"Just a second." Chambers pressed the button that raised the barrier between the front and back seats before continuing. "There was no time to consult you."

"No time... Is there some lag in phone service between New York and the District that I don't know about?"

"There were..." Chambers censored _more urgent _before it could spill off his tongue, "other matters that required my immediate attention. I sent you a report."

"As an email attachment."

"There was nothing you could have done. I have access to FBI as well as Branch resources. It had to be my operation. I was sure you'd agree with the decision I made: Traveler and the painting are worth more than Doherty."

"You trust him to keep his part of the bargain?"

"Not anymore than he trusts me to keep mine."

"You better know what you're doing. _She_ was a bird in the hand. The interrogators hadn't even questioned her yet. She could have told us where they were and we could have had all of them without any need for games."

Chambers resisted the urge to remind Rosalind that her son–the late, not-as-great-as-he'd-like-to-think Jack Freed–had played his share of games. "It's not a game. I intend this to end it."

"It's on your shoulders if it doesn't." Rosalind terminated the connection without so much as a goodbye.

Rosalind's call had served one purpose. It reminded Chambers that Doherty might have information that would prove valuable if this operation didn't work out as he intended. He lowered the barrier and turned to the back seat. "This would go easier on you if you cooperate."

The lines and planes of Kim's face reflected wary uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"I have the power to release you or... Well, you've heard of extraordinary rendition."

"Heard of it! You've already-"

"Already what, Miss Doherty? Do you have any witnesses? Any proof?" Chambers paused to let his words sink in. "Now, let's start again. This is your last chance to determine your own fate. Where are your friends hiding?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"But you were with them."

"I wasn't."

"Lying isn't going to help your cause. Traveler was identified as the man who removed you from FBI custody. I know you were with him."

Fire ignited in the depths of her eyes, telling Chambers that captivity hadn't completely broken her spirit. "Will. Yes, I saw Will. But you were asking about my _friends_."

"And he's not your friend?"

"What do you think? He set up Jay and Tyler. He's responsible for everything. I don't know where he is. I'd tell you if I did."

It was the truth. Chambers knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Interesting. "So you _were_ with Traveler?"

"Not for long. He took me to the Russian embassy on the east side of Central Park."

"Go on."

"He appeared to be fluent in Russian. I decided he must be working for them or with them, which he denied. He said they owed him a favor. But you can't believe a word he says."

"That's one thing we can agree on," Chambers murmured as he swivelled around to face front again.

xxx

_Chaos and confusion_. Will's mind focused on those goals as he taped the last of the four bombs in place. Just about everything was ready for the upcoming encounter. There was only one more piece to activate before he gave Chambers his final set of directions.

After a quick check of the time, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and proceeded to make a call.

xxx

As she scanned the array of open take-out containers, a smile crept across Jessie's face. "Thank you, Agent Sheehan. These are my favorites."

Sheehan shifted back and forth from his left foot to his right. "Yes, well... it's what you seemed to like when we went to dinner."

"At that little restaurant in Chinatown, after my father got the commendation," Jessie remembered. "But that was almost two years ago."

"An agent never forgets," Sheehan said, grinning.

"I guess not. But there were six or seven of us sharing that day. I'll never be able to eat all of this. Will you join me?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I need to get back to my station." Sheehan gestured over his left shoulder toward the open door that led to the outer office.

It was after five. And while Jessie knew that FBI agents were on call beyond normal business hours, the sounds filtering in from the outer office suggested a high activity level. And she hadn't seen her father all day. A sharp bolt of worry killed the appetite the smell of food had aroused. "Is my Dad okay? What's going on?"

"Agent Chambers is fine," Sheehan rattled out. Then as if sensing that he'd answered too abruptly, added, "He really is. We're... we're a bit busy this evening, which is why I need to get back to my station. Enjoy your meal." He backed toward the door.

His words did anything but reassure her. "Tell me what's going on?" Jessie repeated. "If my father is fine, why are you so nervous?"

"Because I'm disobeying protocol. I'm not aloud to discuss FBI business, not even in the broadest terms."

Jessie pressed on. "Why are you _busy_? Does it have anything to do with the agents who were following me yesterday? The ones who went missing in Connecticut? Have they been found?"

Sheehan's eyes went blank and confusion spread across his face. It was several seconds before he regained his composure. "I'm not at liberty to discuss FBI operations. I have to get back to work." He spun quickly about and exited with the speed of an Olympic-class sprinter, closing the door firmly behind him.

_What's going on?_ Jessie asked herself. It was impossible to misread Sheehan's body language. He hadn't known that two agents were missing. How could that be? A missing agent would be a top priority event. Everyone in the Bureau, from New York to California to Texas, would know when an agent was missing.

She dashed off a text to her father, then sat staring at her phone, willing the incoming text message ping to sound, while the cartons of food sat untouched.

The air felt chillier during Will's return ride to the top of the ski slope. He knew it was more a reflection of his mood than the weather. Despite his extensive combat experience, he was as susceptible as anyone to the apprehensive anticipation that swirled like a fog through the calm before a battle. No matter how carefully you planned, you could never account for everything. You were always playing the odds.

_Four years earlier..._

_They dragged them into the gathering dusk with such urgency that for a second Connor thought they knew about the pending strike and were evacuating the area. But they threw them to the ground a scant fifteen feet from the door as a swirl of cries began to circle through the hot, dusty air. _

_Their captors were presenting the prisoners to a half dozen men grouped to Connor's right. The scant glow that was the final gasp of the day's sun made identification difficult. Connor had to concentrate his focus on each man in turn before resolving that two of the faces were familiar to him from their placement in the deck of cards that identified the most-wanted members of the toppled regime. _

_So the boy had been telling the truth._

_Not that it might do them any good. There was a blood thirst raging from the circling crowd–evident in their words, eyes and body language-a vampiric appetite that demanded immediate sustenance._

_The man who appeared to be in charge stepped forward and pronounced a swift judgement on Connor and Murphy. It was met with sharp cries of approval. _

_Murphy knew enough of the local language to translate the predominant phrase that echoed through the pack. "'Death to the infidels.' I don't like the sounds of that," he whispered. "We might not be around if and when our friendly fire barrage arrives." He chuckled briefly, but there was more strain than humor in the choked sound. "If I believed in that Nightingale foolishness, now would be the time for him to show up."_

'_Nightingale!' There were times when Connor wished he'd never heard the word. This was one of them. But Murphy was right. They needed to delay the executions and he could think of only one, very un-Nightingale way to do that. _

_Connor levered onto his knees, then onto his feet. Before anyone could move in to throw him back to the ground, he shuffled toward the man who had condemned them, calling "Assalamu alaikum. Assalamu alaikum." His pronunciation was precise; he wanted to give the crowd every reason to believe that he was worth more alive than dead. "Our leaders are treacherous," he continued in perfect Arabic. "Don't hurt me. I'll tell you everything I know." _

_Rough hands grabbed him, pulling him in different directions, causing the ropes that were loosely bound about his wrists and ankles to fall free. Good, that would add credence to his value as a live captive. "Special forces," he cried out, sure that they knew the term and what it signified, then, back to Arabic, added, "I have valuable information."_

_Sharp jabs and shoves propelled him forward, finishing with a thunderous blow that sent him sprawling to the ground in front of their leader. "Salaam, salaam," he whimpered fearfully. He wanted them to believe that he was frightened to the point of full cooperation. "Please– "_

_Something hard, probably a rifle butt, slammed into his back and sent the air whooshing from his lungs. It became difficult to breathe and impossible to talk. Before he could regain his senses, his head was yanked back and a sharp blade came out of nowhere to prickle against his throat._

The alarm on Will's watch sounded. He shut it off then reached for his phone. It was time to make the final call to Chambers.

xxx

Gabe looked warily to his left and right. He'd been standing in front of Jess's dorm for so long that he wouldn't be surprised if someone were to call campus security to report him as a stalker. The last thing he needed was another round of interrogation for wrong doing.

Not that he wasn't stalker. Technically, he qualified, though not one with evil intent.

Jess wasn't answering his calls or responding to his text messages and he was desperate to resolve the rift between them. He was sure she'd understand if she just gave him a chance to explain. It wasn't as if he'd twisted her arm. She'd felt as if she owed him a favor and he'd given her a chance to reciprocate. It was supposed to be a simple delivery. Tyler was really the one to blame. It was his mess. His request. Dad was right. It was time they stopped bailing Tyler out of scrapes.

xxx

As the sun slipped below to the horizon, bands of pink, orange and pale purple crowned the top of the ridge to the west. While the sky above still maintained a glimmer of light, deep ebony shadows were spreading over the valley below.

Perched near the top of the ski lift, Will checked his watch. It was time to alert the troops. "They should be here soon," he called out.

Jay looked up, gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, then let his head droop forward again. He hadn't moved from the bench built into the side of the ski patrol hut since he and Tyler had returned from their practice run.

Tyler threw a last pebble at the makeshift target he'd carved in a tree before walking to Will's side. "And if they aren't?"

"If they don't arrive in the next five minutes, we leave. It means that Chambers has figured out that this is the end of the line and he's setting a trap."

"But what if they're delayed by car trouble? Or they get lost?"

"We leave," Will repeated.

"Jay won't like that."

"Which is why he won't be making the decision."

"You say that as if you don't understand what Jay is going through. What's the matter with you?"

Will turned with slow deliberation to face Tyler. "We don't have the luxury of wallowing in empathy," he said, choosing each word carefully. "Remember what I told you earlier. Jay is going to be distracted; I need _you_ to stay focused. The route to the rendezvous point is on the eastern slope. It's going to hold the light longer than down there." He pointed to the resort buildings on the valley floor. "But it's still going to be tricky. Will you be able to manage?"

"Yes." Tyler straightened, his shoulders squaring; resolve was evident in the deepening timber of his voice as he continued. "We've been over this. If I have to, I'll use the headlights, but only for as long as I need them."

"That's right." Will nodded his approval. "And if you get lost?"

"If I get lost, the rendezvous point is down. We keep going down and eventually we'll hit the road."

"And how will you know whether to go left or right?"

"Gods, Will! Enough! I get the message. I'm not going to mess this up. I'll-"

Will shot out his arm, gesturing for Tyler to hush. Tyler cut off in mid sentence, allowing Will's ears to lock onto the faint sound of an approaching motor. "Two minutes," he shouted. "Jay, get over here."

Jay gave his head a shake before he pushed up from the bench. The spring that normally defined his gait was absent, as if the gravity beneath his feet was exerting double its normal pull. "Is it them?" he asked, his voice a complex mix of hope and anxiety.

"Yes," Will answered, confident that no one else would be visiting the closed ski resort this late in the day. He looked first at Tyler then to Jay. "You both know what to do?"

"Yes," Jay said, but his eyes told another story. He was operating on numbed auto-pilot, saying the right words and making the right motions, but his mind appeared to be elsewhere, in a world that was defined by blind worry and churning emotions.

Tyler, however, was all business. "We take those," he said, nodding to where the ATVs were parked on the rear slope, out of sight of anyone on the valley floor, "and we kick ass to where Marlow will be waiting."

"That's right," Will said, encouraged by the unwavering certainty in Tyler's voice. "You don't hesitate. As soon as you have Kim, you take off."

"While you will be...?" Tyler asked.

"Dealing with Chambers."

xxx

Mailer waited impatiently for David to make the turn at the far end of the lap pool so that he could catch his eye. Fancher moved with such smooth precision that only the tiniest of waves licked the sides of the narrow channel as he surged forward. His flip was equally smooth, stirring the tiniest of ripples before he was headed back toward his employer.

"David," Mailer yelled while waving his right arm above his head.

Mailer didn't know if it was the sound of his voice or the flicker of movement that gained Fancher's attention, but he stopped almost immediately, with an abruptness that delineated the quickest of reflexes. He levered his muscular frame out of the pool with the type of straight body move that one would see during Olympic pommel horse competitions.

Fancher was a rare blend of raw strength and fluid agility. His chiseled body and stalwart posture suggested a man even larger than two hundred and twenty-five pounds of solid muscle on a six foot, two-inch frame. Genetics had endowed him with physical gifts that Mailer couldn't help but envy. There were some things that even his abundant fortune couldn't buy.

"If you're going to summon me in the middle of a swim, you could at least hand me a towel," Fancher said with good-natured familiarity as he covered the distance between them.

Mailer swept his hand down, grabbed the towel from the stone bench, and tossed it forward. Fancher snatched it out of the air and draped it over his shoulders. Goosebumps were forming on his body at it contacted the cool air that already held an early hint of winter. But then when wasn't it winter in Colorado? Mailer shook that thought from his mind.

"I've not been able to reach Jon," he said.

"That's not a bad thing. It means he's on to something."

"I'm sure you're right. It's just that I've been trying for thirty minutes."

Fancher took his time responding. They were almost to the house when he said, "This isn't like you, Conrad. You've always hired the best and let them go about their business. Let Anselmo do his job."

"I know. I know. It's just taking longer than I expected."

David opened the heavy oak door then stepped to the side to let Mailer enter first. "Will Traveler is very, very good at almost anything he does. He wouldn't be much use to you if he wasn't. So be glad that he's giving Anselmo a merry chase."

Despite the wisdom of David's words, Mailer couldn't stop himself from grimacing. "There is no reward without a degree of risk," he said, quoting himself before Fancher got around to it. "All right. I'm going to put this business out of my mind. Get into some clothes and meet me in the library. I'll break out that bottle of Glenlivet that I've been saving."

As he trotted toward the back stairs, David called over his shoulder. "Don't drink it all before I get there."

xxx

Everything was happening too quickly, leaving Tyler with the feeling of standing on a precipice with no guard rail to prevent him from tipping off the edge. Will hadn't given anyone time to think. He'd made his proposal to Chambers–make the trade now, no hesitation, or the deal was off–and hopped on the ski lift, heading down, within minutes of the FBI agent's arrival. Kim was on the opposite side, heading up, both having boarded at the same time.

Will's left arm was looped around the vertical pole that connected the chair to the steel cable above. His right arm rested in his lap, the tube with the painting held loosely in his hand.

_Should we be giving up the painting? _Tyler wondered, wishing he had pressed harder to get Will to define his plan. The way it looked now, with Will facing three–that they could see–FBI agents, it looked like Chambers had a clear advantage.

_That's not my business! Nothing I can do about it_.

It was Kim creeping closer and closer that Tyler needed to watch.

"Be ready to move." Tyler directed the words to Jay before turning his attention to the sky, where a faint twinkle of stars suggested it would be full dark before they reached Marlow. At some point, they'd have to use the headlights. Not good, but unavoidable. "We have to leave as soon as Kim gets here."

And then she was there, stumbling as she left the chairlift and looking as if she'd aged ten years since Tyler had last seen her. "Move, move," he called as Jay reached for Kim. They were talking to each other, but Tyler blocked out their words. _No distractions_, Will had said. _Stay focused. _"Jay, not now," he scolded, cutting off a half-formed hug. "Move."

Kim stumbled a second time as Jay guided her to the waiting vehicles. Tyler dashed to provide support to her other side. "Good to see you," he rushed out. Then he was helping her settle in behind Jay before racing to the lead four wheeler.

They were just starting down the slope when a series of fierce pops and bangs tore through the air. It wasn't long before the sharper cracks of gunfire–a sound that had become all too familiar to Tyler–followed.

A chill rippled up Tyler's spine as he gunned the motor to speed his descent. _Stay focused!_

end of episode 9

(Apologies for the long delay. Since it took so long to finish this episode, I didn't try to find a beta-reader. If anyone notices any problems, mistakes, please let me know so that I can correct them.)


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